


Juvenilia

by ladysisyphus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2007-09-05
Updated: 2011-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-10 18:39:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 88,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladysisyphus/pseuds/ladysisyphus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A long, ongoing project about the Marauders' time at Hogwarts, year by year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ordinary

**Author's Note:**

> Please see the [Miserabilia community on Livejournal](http://community.livejournal.com/hp_miserabilia/) for full archival and amalgamation of my HP works.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two sets of preparations for first year.

It was around mid-July when it started -- almost exactly halfway between full moons, the time when Remus came the closest he ever did to forgetting, which wasn't actually very close at all. He was sweaty and disconsolate trudging back up the back steps to the house, his book under his arm; he'd been banished outside in the morning, to "go play and get some fresh air," which always came out to "sit on the swing trying to read with sweat in your eyes and a mosquito in your ear, and hope your brothers don't kick the football at your head as well." Normally they didn't, though, at least not on purpose, but Remus supposed that was mainly because they didn't consider him worthy of that much attention. His brothers played a lot of football over the summer holidays. Ancus even wanted to play for England, although he was the first and most cheerful to admit it was hard to imagine someone by the name of Ancus going far in the world of sport.

Remus pushed through the door into the kitchen, hoping either he could slip by unnoticed or that his time of penance outdoors for being pale and sickly would be considered sufficient. Instead he found his mother standing at the open side window, biting her lip and muttering, and trying to wrestle something from the leg of what appeared to be a handsome, tawny owl. His mother looked harassed and sweaty. The owl looked extremely patient and long-suffering. Remus froze just inside the door, with his greeting dying of bafflement inside his mouth.

Before he could even think of the obvious consequences, the kitchen door swung shut behind him with a loud bang; his mother jumped, emitted a small, screamy little hiccup, and whirled, fixing Remus with slightly mad eyes. He resisted the urge to flatten back against the door as he stared back at her, and after a second she relaxed, closing her eyes and pressing a shaky hand against her forehead.

"Oh, thank goodness, Remus," she said, and laughed a little, not convincingly. "I thought it must be one of your brothers, I'd no idea what I'd say. Can you come help me a moment? I haven't had to wrangle one of these since I stopped taking the Prophet, and I just can't -- get -- " This trailing off as she turned back to her task. Remus could only stare a second or two longer, and then got a hold of himself, setting his book down on the table.

"Sure, mum." He approached the problem, stopped, frowned. "Er -- what should I do?"

"Get a bit of fish from the refrigerator and feed it to him," she said, without looking up, "he's been very patient -- oh, I think I've almost got it -- "

Remus didn't feel this was much of an explanation, but he did as she asked anyway, coming back to hold out the shreds of whitefish in his palm gingerishly toward the owl. It eyed them imperiously, then darted its head down to pluck them up, its beak barely scraping his skin. He drew back his hand, quickly, and then stretched it tentatively back forward to see if the owl would let him touch its head. It held still and patient, and half a smile drifted across his lips at the momentary feel of its pinfeathers, both soft and rough, under his stroking fingers. "What, um..."

"Just a moment -- _there_." His mother straightened, holding what looked like a cream-colored envelope in her hand. The owl took off at once, Remus thought rather gratefully, and flew back out the window. He watched it for a few seconds, as it lifted up over the treetops, became a speck and disappeared. Then movement beside him made him look back up at his mother, to find she was holding the envelope out to him. Her expression was curious, almost unfamiliar from all his eleven years of experience with her expressions: a kind of smile that was at once rueful, grim, and anxious.

"Well, it's just as well you came in, as it's for you," she said. "I thought as much."

He stared up at her, frowning deeply, half a dozen questions flitting through his mouth to ask; but the twist of her mouth didn't seem to invite them, so he just took the envelope, tearing it open and pulling out the letter inside. All that was written on the envelope itself, he noted with mounting disturbance, was his full name.

~~~~~

Dear Mr. Lupin:

 

You are hereby invited to a meeting, to be held on the afternoon of Tuesday next at four o'clock, in my office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It is my profound wish to discuss with you the possibility of a place for you at Hogwarts, and certain other concerns which may be relevant to the matter in question.

You should consider being accompanied by a parent to this conference, although this is not strictly necessary. A staff member from the school will arrive at your home to retrieve you at the appropriate time. If the time and place of the meeting are not agreeable to you, please inform her, so that alternate arrangements may be made.

Yours sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore  
Headmaster  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

~~~~~

Remus stared at this for what must have been a good five minutes, reading and rereading and no surer that he'd understood any one time then the last. Finally, he turned it around wordlessly and handed it to his mother. She read it much more quickly, and when she looked up her expression was even more unrecognizable than before.

"I thought as much," she repeated, and set the letter down on the table. "Although I wasn't sure..." She folded her arms, not bothering to finish her sentence, and turned away from him to look out the window. "Do you want to go to the meeting?"

Remus glanced at the letter. "I don't know. ...It didn't -- sound like I had a choice."

"Well, you do," she said, sharply -- more sharply than he might have expected, and he nearly fell back a step in alarm. "It's entirely up to you, they won't force you to do anything."

He glanced at the letter again. He knew the school's name, of course. The memory was vivid: eight years old, sitting on the back steps with his eyes and throat burning, staring at the grass until his eyes got tired and it smudged into an eternal green nonsense, his mother sitting next to him on the back step with her hand still over his hand, not so much to comfort as to restrain. Her saying _I'm sorry, I shouldn't have, I overreacted, Remus, I'm sorry,_ and _It's only, your father doesn't care for it very much,_ and his nodding as though he understood; nodding the same way when she told him, in long, halting strides as she stared out into the middle distance and not at him. About herself, who'd never quite been a Squib (a word she'd only passingly defined, and not so he'd much understood it) but who had never had much magic, who had privately only wished to be like her father, ordinary and unremarkable and kind; her sister, whose talents for magic had always been far greater, who had gone off to the wizarding school and been injured badly in some sort of accident no one would ever tell her about, _but she was always accident-prone, and she died so young, so soon after_ ; his grandmother the witch, a _real_ witch and not like in the fairy stories, and her disappointment for the one of her daughters, her pride for the other, the deepening of the former after the latter was taken from her.

 _I just didn't want to go,_ his mother had told him, and sighed, looking down at her laced fingers on the knees of her slacks. _I wanted to be like everyone else, and I certainly didn't want to go somewhere where they told me I wasn't even any good at being different every day of my life. And after Rhea was hurt --_ She shook her head slightly. _I don't know. I don't know what'll happen with you, if you'll -- well, what with your -- well, I don't know. But I never had a wand, and I never learnt to do anything, and they had me take training to make sure I'd never do anything accidentally, and I've been living as a normal person -- a Muggle, I mean -- all this time. And your father, well._ She had smiled, faintly, and brushed hair out of her eyes. It had occurred to him then that this was the most honest, most _adult_ conversation she'd ever had with him, and it had made him feel both wonderful and horrible -- as though he had been praised more highly than he had ever known but now was dying, slowly. _He never got along with Grandmum, what with all that, and he doesn't think too highly of wizards, I'm afraid. Not_ you _, of course, but -- well, let's just keep this to ourselves for now, all right?_

He had agreed, because he didn't really understand _what_ had just happened or what he'd unexpectedly found out, but he didn't think he needed to cry anymore and at eight that had felt like enough to him. They'd gone inside, and she was still feeling guilty enough that he was allowed to have some sweets after dinner, and he'd mostly forgotten it until the next time one of his brothers frightened him and he made branches snap back in Tullus's face without touching them, and then he had fled the scene at once and hid under the eaves all day, feeling helpless and sick and ashamed.

Remus looked up at his mother again, and he thought he knew a little better what her expression said now.

"I think I'll go," he said, as boldly as he could, although it came out sounding more like a question than a statement. "I mean... it's just to talk, isn't it? I don't even know what they'll say if I don't."

His mother seemed to let out a small breath, and rubbed at her forehead again. "Of course. It's only -- there may be some large decisions to be made, and I don't want you to feel like you're being rushed at them, or like anyone's pressing you one way or another."

"I'm not," Remus said, instantly, and then reconsidered. "I mean, I don't. I just... want to know."

His mother looked at him for another long, hard moment, before finally giving him a slow nod. "All right," she said, and tousled his hair -- a rare, affectionate gesture, and one that made his heart rise in his throat a little every time. His father wasn't much for hugging and the like, and his mother always seemed to be finding excuses not to touch him too much unless it was necessary or important, putting distance between them in rooms. Even his brothers, for all they wrestled and beat on each other, never strayed too close. Well, Pompilius had, when he was little, but Pompy was the oldest and he'd been out of the house and married to a nice Welsh girl for a good six years now. (Presumably the Welsh were somehow more understanding about people having names like Pompilius. Their names, as Remus understood it, had all been at his grandmother's insistence, and for all that he tended to go by R.J. at his primary school, he was aware that he had gotten off relatively light, all things considered.) He squinted up at his mother through the dislodged strands of his hair and smiled, most of his concerns, at least for now, forgotten.

And she smiled back, for a wonder, and let him go. "Now go and wash your hands," she instructed; "heaven only knows what that poor bird had to fly through." And that, for the time being, was that.

\---

The following Tuesday he found himself sitting outside again in the late afternoon, on the back steps, his most recent book unopened on his lap. It wasn't, he had told himself firmly, that he was nervous; only that he was curious, and who wouldn't be, about what a staff member from a magical school would look like and be like. He imagined, since the letter had said "her" (and he'd only reread it sixteen or seventeen times in the interim so he ought to know), that the person might be something like his grandmother in the strange, moving pictures his mother had only shown to him: tall, imperious, and stern, wearing voluminous garments of dark blue and purple that looked something like a cross between a dress and a poncho, a high pointed hat perched atop the impeccable nest of silver braids piled on her head. Well, perhaps not exactly like that, but along the same general lines. It was something to keep his mind off whatever might happen after she came, at least.

He was so busy looking around that he didn't see the cat approach -- or at least, that was what he assumed had happened. He just looked down and found it sitting right in front of him on the grass before the stoop: a bright-eyed, intelligent-looking tabby, with curious little markings on its face around the eyes, its tail twitching gently beside it. It stared at him and he stared back at it. The whole thing felt curiously awkward.

"Um," Remus said, smiling a little, "hello," and he reached out, uncertainly; but the cat stayed, quite firmly and with great dignity, out of range of being petted. He accepted this with good grace, sitting back again. "Where did you come from?" he asked, mostly rhetorically, but the cat seemed done with him already; it had gotten to its feet, and shook itself off, before mounting the steps of the house. As he watched, starting to frown, it climbed up right past where he was sitting, straight to the door, and scratched at the base -- three times, swift and even, more like... _knocking_ than scratching.

His mother opened the door. She looked down at the cat, and registered absolutely no surprise at all at its appearance there; all Remus could see in her face was that same sort of rueful grimness from the other day. "Hello, Professor," she said quietly. "Do come in." Then, just when he was about to ask what on earth she was doing, she glanced up at him. "You as well, Remus."

And rather than question or argue, he just did as he was told.

Inside the kitchen, the cat turned into a tall, forbidding older woman with spectacles, which was most definitely not among the list of possible things Remus had been expecting and made him yelp a lot more loudly than he would have liked. She was, in fact, dressed very much like his grandmother had been in the photographs, and the resemblance was even stronger when she cast him a sideways glance of purse-lipped consternation at the sound. "Remus," Remus's mother said, in a tone that clearly implied she meant to pretend her son had _not_ just done something embarrassing in front of company, albeit company that seemed, under some circumstances, to be a cat, "this is Professor McGonagall, from Hogwarts. Professor, my son, Remus."

"Pleased to meet you," Remus managed, squeakily, when the woman turned to look at him again. This time he could have sworn he saw a small flash of amusement behind her glasses, as well as discomfiture, although he didn't much like to consider the implications. She only nodded to him, though, and he could breathe a little easier when her attention turned back to his mother.

"I assume you're here to escort us to the school?" his mother asked the professor -- McGonagall -- and she nodded again.

"Indeed." She had a strong, high voice that managed to make Remus feel even more nervous and small, somehow. "And may I say it is a pleasure to see you again, Silvia. I realize this comes rather late, but I wanted to tell you how very sorry I was to hear of your mother's passing. Vesta was a fine witch, and a dear friend."

Remus watched his mother's face a little too closely at that, but if anything it seemed to soften slightly. "Thank you," she said, "but to be honest, you'd probably spoken her more recently than I had." She glanced at Remus, still nearly huddled against the front door, over Professor McGonagall's shoulder. "Remus, let's not keep the professor waiting, shall we? Go get changed and find your shoes, please."

"Yes, mum." He nodded again, awkwardly, to McGonagall, and escaped past them to the stairs. Their voices faded behind him, and for all his excitement and nerves and earlier conviction, he lingered a little bit longer in his room than strictly necessary, taking his time changing into his nicer clothes. Just... he needed a moment, to catch his breath, maybe. Sometimes things in his life became very strange, very fast.

Coming back down the stairs, he started to be able to make out the words again -- and froze, his also nicer (if still hand-me-down) shoes in hand, one foot hovering over the next riser.

" -- ive years or so," his mother was saying, in a hushed, strained voice that made it impossible to mistake what she was talking about, although that very fact shocked him; it was not something he had ever heard _discussed_. Everyone who needed to know had always known, and dealt with it as it came up, but it was never said out loud. He had dim, pain-laced memories of a very peculiar hospital, his mother pale and red-eyed and silent by his bed, his father extremely stiff and uncomfortable and watching the strange doctors in odd clothes bustle around with a leery eye, but even then he couldn't remember anyone _explaining_ , anyone _talking_ about it. The very idea seemed vaguely indecent, especially with a stranger in their kitchen. Well, a stranger to him, anyway. "He was very small."

"Surely," McGonagall's dry, strong voice answered, and Remus frowned a little, leaning closer to the corner the kitchen lay around.

Remus's mother made a little sound, not quite like a laugh. "It was so _stupid_ , really... just a terrible accident, all of it. John, he's, well. He never really got on with my mother, and he's always had something of a low opinion of wizards and magic -- I think it makes him a bit nervous, honestly, and I can't entirely say I blame him. He's... a very straightforward man, John, he likes things in order, that's all. But he -- John was on his way home from work and saw him about in the village -- I don't know what he was doing here in the first place, exactly -- and recognized what he thought he must be." Remus had thought at first the other person under discussion must be himself, and was frowning even more deeply -- but it couldn't be, and his pulse stuttered with realization. A third, then. Or not just any third, but _the_ third. The one who had bitten him. But -- "John was a bit irritated, I suppose, and he went to talk to him. Took him aside, and told him -- I know what you are, and go on, we don't need your kind around here." A faint, jagged laugh, far less real even than before. "I imagine he took that somewhat amiss."

"Indeed, I imagine so." McGonagall said. Her voice had gone papery and thin.

"So he hung about, I assume, and when the full moon was out, well -- " Her voice sounded a little unsteady now, and Remus's heart closed like a fist in his chest. "Remus was playing outside in the back yard, he's always been a little solitary, and I suppose it just saw him, and -- "

She stopped there, and even from the stairs Remus could hear the breath she took. He felt like he could do little if anything else, though. His mouth was slightly open, his brow knitted, and nothing made any sense at all. It almost sounded like she meant to say... he'd been bitten on _purpose_? Was that even _possible_? His mind reeled around, rebounded off things with no connections or sense made. How... but it couldn't be, could it? He didn't know why she would lie to Professor McGonagall, but why wouldn't anyone have _told_ him?

"I'm so very sorry," McGonagall said, quietly, and Remus's mother's tone changed at once -- rather too forcefully, as though she were somehow embarrassed.

"No, no, it's -- he's very good about it, I mean, really, and it's been mostly -- his brothers don't even know. He's a very brave boy." A second's shuffling pause, and then she added, "Where on earth _is_ he, though? If he's gotten distracted again, I swear -- _Remus?_ "

The call of his name was instantly sobering. He shook himself almost as McGonagall the cat had done, and took three quick silent steps back up the stairs, then came back down them with all the noise and vigor he could muster. "I'm coming, mum, I've got them!" he called back. "Sorry!"

"That's all right, just do hurry up -- " Chairs scuffed in the kitchen, and by the time he came back in it was as though the whole conversation had never happened. Except for what was still stuck in his mind, nagging at him -- on _purpose_? On purpose? For something rude his father had said to a stranger in the street? It made no sense at all. He'd been told the one that had bitten him had been killed; was that possibly not true either?

Somehow, though, he managed to put it aside, and smile faintly at his mother and the professor, before hurrying to bend down and get his shoes on. There would be time for all of that later, he supposed; maybe even time to confront his mother, depending on how much of a brave boy he was indeed feeling. For now, he had an appointment to keep; and that concern did seem the most pressing.

\---

The trip to the school itself was surprisingly unpleasant: each of them clutching one of Professor McGonagall's arms, and a long, stifling sensation like being stuffed down the bathtub drain until they finally came out in front of a gate, leading into a massive sprawl of green topped by a massive, imposing stone castle Remus supposed must be the school, although it looked like none he'd ever seen or heard of or particularly wanted to imagine. Nonetheless, they were led to it, and in and up through countless instances of the bizarre -- paintings moved on the walls; staircases appeared to rearrange themselves at whim; suits of armor, he would swear, turned their heads to watch as they passed; and more indefinably, he could swear he could feel the entire _building_ breathing, so crammed full with life and oddity that it was itself almost alive -- until they reached a long stone hallway where a gargoyle dozed heavily in front of one wall, snoring. Before he could ask a single question or be shushed by his mum, however, Professor McGonagall said to the gargoyle in tones of firm conviction, "Nougat."

The gargoyle snorted awake and leapt aside, and the wall opened like a pair of wings, a flight of stairs rising behind it in a graceful twist. So there was something _else_ for Remus to stare at. Frankly the total was already making his head ache.

Professor McGonagall turned back to them both and nodded, and again Remus thought he caught just a touch of warmth at her mouth when her eyes fell on him, although it wasn't an impression he would have trusted under pressure. "The headmaster is waiting," she said, more to him than to his mother, he also thought. "Go on up, please; and should you have any other need of me, give a call."

"Thank you," Remus's mother said, and before the professor could even leave she had taken Remus's wrist in her hand -- also a rare gesture, although he thought there were more nerves in it than affection -- and started leading him up the stairs. He heard the click of heels behind them in the hallway, heading away, and then even that was gone. "A lot of things may seem strange to you here," his mother said, as they approached the door; "if anything confuses you, be patient, and ask when it's appropriate. And be sure to sit still."

"I will," Remus said, slightly indignantly, although she didn't seem to notice. She was very white and he could seem to see every breath she took in her nose and throat, like a nervous horse. It was all starting to affect him, to his dismay; what was this place like, that it was making her so upset? Unbidden, pictures of this headmaster kept lurking in dark forbidding shadows in his imagination, giving him cold looks down a long nose and making insinuations about how unworthy and dangerous he was for a school like this, no matter how he tried to chase them off. His mother nodded slightly, and squeezed his wrist a little.

"And _don't stare_. All right?"

"All right."

"There's a lad." She glanced at him, and smiled. He didn't find it very convincing, but he tried to smile back. They'd reached the top of the stairs, and stood before a heavy door, and Remus already wanted to go home. "Well -- let's go."

Nothing, of course, was anything like what he'd expected.

The office they emerged into was nothing like any school official's he'd ever been in -- though it wasn't as if he'd been in many, apart from the occasional routine conference where said officials had looked bored and harassed and had often had trouble remembering his name. It was huge and airy and bright, a scalloped architectural marvel that made a lot of curious little noises and glimmers, a massive and gorgeous desk sitting in the middle that was, at least temporarily, empty. Portraits of numerous old men and women in varying states of peculiar dress dozed on the walls, some also to be heard snoring. Alone for the moment, they made their approach to the desk slowly, passing delicate silver devices one after another, spinning on every surface Remus could see. His eye was so tightly caught by one of these that he actually managed to slip away from his mother by a few steps, and investigate, all else at least temporarily put out of his mind by its beauty. It was a little like a gyroscope, except it kept flipping itself, finding new axes and parallels --

"Don't touch that, Remus," his mother said sharply, as he strayed a little closer, and he glanced up at her, guiltily -- and then jumped at the sound of another voice, older, male.

"Quite right, I am afraid -- although more for your sake than for its."

He whirled, already feeling stupid and like everything was going out of its way to shock him today. Emerging from the same door they'd just come in was an old man -- an old _wizard_ , Remus supposed -- in a long silvery garment that wasn't much like a dress _or_ a poncho, and a matching hat that wasn't even particularly pointy. His hair and beard were equally silver and both streamed down his back and front, not unlike the man Remus's father had muttered so darkly about when he'd been hanging around the village with a guitar and a tourist's map, only considerably cleaner and better-kept. The beard was tied about halfway down with a length of cord, tipped with two bells at the ends. Somehow this seemed to Remus like the most impossibly outlandish thing he could have thought of, and he had to make a hero's effort to follow the last of his mother's instructions.

But the man's face, with just as long a nose as he'd pictured and little half-moon spectacles perched atop it at that, was nonetheless as kind as any he'd ever seen. And that made the greatest impression of all.

"The mechanism is quite sturdy," Professor Dumbledore continued, closing the door behind him and absently scratching the head of a rather ugly little bird Remus hadn't noticed before, sitting on a perch by the door with an unaccountable amount of ash piled on its base, "but, in this instance regrettably, constructed of pure silver. But I trust that Mr. Lupin is by now aware of the proper balance of caution and curiosity." He smiled, benevolently Remus thought, so much that he was even able to return it with a shy one of his own. "Please, be seated."

Remus was more or less sure the chairs he indicated hadn't been there before, but it didn't seem prudent to question. He sat, keeping the corner of an eye on his mother, who if anything seemed paler and more strained now that they were inside the office. His hands kneaded into each other in his lap and gripped each other white, apparently of their own accord. Dumbledore swept around them to arrive behind the desk, and seated himself as well, folding his hands on its top. "Mrs. Lupin, young Mr. Lupin," nodding to each of them in turn, "I am Professor Dumbledore. It is a pleasure to host you here, and, I hope, an equal one to discuss your future at Hogwarts."

"Do you really intend to take Remus on, Professor?" Remus's mother broke in at once, all the words bursting out as though just let out of cages. Remus glanced at her again, but quickly looked back at his hands. "I mean, it's very gracious of you, of course, but I'd assumed it'd be out of the question."

"Mrs. Lupin," Dumbledore said gravely, "if I were not in earnest as regards Mr. Lupin's invitation, it would scarcely have been worth any of our time to schedule this meeting." Remus's mother flushed, not pleasantly, and Remus knew exactly what the way her lips thinned meant, but Dumbledore went on speaking before she had any opportunity to pursue the matter. "However, it is of course true that there are certain difficulties that must be surmounted prior to his attendance. I have already taken the liberty of devising solutions to most of these; all that will be required are Mr. Lupin's consent and cooperation, which I hope here to secure." He smiled at Remus again here, just as kindly, but Remus was too nervous now to do more than smile back at his own hands. "By the by, Mr. Lupin, might I interest you in a truffle?"

This question was so unexpected, though, that Remus thought he couldn't possibly have heard right, and looked up frowning to see Dumbledore extending a foil-lined box in his direction. Inside it was, simply put, the most astonishing-looking assortment of chocolate truffles he'd ever beheld. Each one was bigger than he could circle his thumb and forefinger around, with intricate designs in the chocolate that looked like fireworks and rainstorms and... well, magic. Remus felt like he might have already seen a hundred impossible things today, and yet this box, he was certain, was the most impressive of them all. He could only gape for a moment, first at the box, then at Dumbledore, then at his mother. Her mouth was a depressingly thin line.

"You'll spoil your supper," she murmured, although her voice was gentler than Remus might have expected, and his already-reaching hand returned to his side, crestfallen. Dumbledore's eyebrows lifted, as though she had stated some fact of which he meant to express polite incredulity.

"Far be it from me to interfere," he said, sounding like it was very near to him indeed, "but I can scarcely imagine a growing boy could be caused to miss a no doubt delicious meal by a single piece of chocolate."

To Remus's surprise, that made his mother smile slightly; she touched it on her mouth as though she couldn't quite believe it of herself, and only shook her head, although she looked no less tense. "Well, whatever you like," was her final word, and at it Remus found himself feeling unexpectedly brave -- almost defiant, of all things. He knew exactly what he'd like, and what he could manage, even if she didn't.

With a nod and a barely voiced 'thank you', Remus selected the roundest milk chocolate piece, with sides etched like the branches of tiny trees. He put it into his mouth whole, then bit down. The liquid center poured out onto his tongue, and for a moment he swore everything in the room went a little golden.

"Excellent," said Dumbledore, and smiled at him, broadly. "They were a gift, I am afraid, from a friend who overestimates the sturdiness of my digestion at such an advanced age." He set the box aside, and folded his hands again. "A place has been prepared," he continued, with no further warning, "to serve as the site of Mr. Lupin's transformations; it is an old, unused building at the edge of Hogsmeade, the neighboring village." It was difficult to tell, just now, whether he was speaking to Remus's mother, or to Remus himself. The wording seemed to suggest it was more to her, but something about it _felt_ like it was to Remus -- almost entirely to Remus, in fact, and she intended to be none the wiser. "The building is accessible through a passageway beginning on Hogwarts's grounds. To protect the passage from other, errant students -- and the students, of course, from the hazards of Mr. Lupin's condition -- a fine young Whomping Willow tree has been transplanted to its entrance. Mr. Lupin alone will be provided with the means of safely bypassing it." He looked at Remus again, and inclined his head slightly, fixing Remus with his gaze over his glasses. "The further particulars, of course, we may discuss as the relevant time approaches."

"What about after?" Remus's mother broke in, pale again. "Sometimes -- he needs help, in the morning."

"Madam Pomfrey, our matron, will be fully informed of his condition, and will assist him as necessary." This to her, and then his attention seemed to be fixed on Remus again. "And naturally his other professors will be informed as well, so that his particular academic needs may better be accommodated. However -- "

His tone had gone suddenly severe, and he was definitely looking directly at Remus now. He did his best to meet Dumbledore's gaze, and not just shrink into his chair. "And this is quite a serious matter, Mr. Lupin, I feel I must remind you. In your time at Hogwarts, it will be necessary for you to keep your condition entirely secret from your fellow students, and from anyone else who is not specifically a teacher or a member of the school staff. This includes your classmates, your school friends, and your dormitory fellows, no matter how close or trusted they may be. I have the power to prevent my staff from spreading such sensitive information -- if indeed I believed they were so inclined -- but my power to prevent students from doing so, to their parents, to their classmates, or to other parties who might be concerned, is limited. I would attempt to protect you under any pressure from these, of course, but it would be far simpler for all concerned not to have to do so at all. And furthermore," and his eyes seemed to bore more deeply into Remus all the time, making it harder and harder not to squirm, even when all he could see in them was concern and sympathy, "it is most lamentable to to have to say so, but most wizards do not look kindly on those who suffer from the condition that you do. If you were to tell of it to your fellow students, even those you might count as closest friends, your personal safety could be in jeopardy." He looked at Remus a long moment longer, searchingly. "Do we understand each other, Mr. Lupin?"

"Yes, sir," he whispered, not daring to break eye contact but wishing he could stare at the floor. His eyes burned from lack of blinking, and he supposed for other reasons.

But then it was all right; Dumbledore smiled, and sat back, and that seemed to be that.

"Then it is very well," he said. "Have another truffle, if you please."

Remus's mother cleared her throat, unmistakably, but he managed to ignore her. The large dark one with the fireworks was shockingly spicy on his tongue, and the golden glow as welcome as it had been the first time. "Now," Dumbledore said, with a decisive air, setting the box aside again. "We have come at last to the most important question."

Remus blinked, and his mother sat forward, frowning. "What's that?"

"Mr. Lupin," Dumbledore said, "do you _wish_ to attend Hogwarts?"

It was the last thing he'd ever expected, and yet, as he thought about it, he couldn't argue that in a way it was the most important -- a question he almost couldn't believe, now that it had been asked, hadn't been asked _first_. But Professor Dumbledore had wanted him to know, hadn't he? He'd wanted his decision to be made knowing everything he needed to know, not on the basis of whatever stupid hopes or fears he might have dragged in the door behind him. Warm gratitude washed over his chest for a moment, not hurt in the slightest by the lingering glow the truffle seemed to have left behind -- but all of it soured the slightest bit when he looked over at the look on his mother's face.

No, she didn't want him to; he supposed he'd known that from the start. She hadn't wanted to go herself, and wanted him to know he had the same choice, and not to pressure him like her mum had done her. But she also wanted him to _make_ the same choice -- to be like her, to be _ordinary_ , like his father and all his brothers. And he had to look down at the gleaming floor of Dumbledore's office, swallowing bitterness, because a part of him knew even then that she wanted it for him, but she also wanted it for herself. If her husband and all of her children were ordinary then maybe she could be ordinary, finally, instead of the crippled halfling imitation she'd been striving to maintain all this time, marred so spectacularly when her youngest son had become a -- become a monster, he couldn't quite make himself think the proper word, knotting his hands together again so tight they went white -- and started making things move on their own, at six years old. She couldn't make him not be a -- a monster, but she could make him not be a wizard, or at least she thought she could. But he'd never be ordinary. He'd always known that. And no matter how she might be doing it out of love for him, she wanted to take away his only chance to be not-ordinary somewhere where it was, where from what he'd been told it _could_ be... well, almost normal.

"Yes," he said, with more strength than he'd said anything in this office so far. He couldn't even feel cruel or spiteful about it, in the end; she was his _mum_ and he wasn't much for cruelty or spite anyway, and really, it was nothing but the truth. He couldn't look at her face, though, and instead settled for Dumbledore's -- Dumbledore's, which at this moment was beaming at him with a pleased, serene inner light. "Yes, I do. Very much. Sir."

"Then that," Dumbledore said, straight to him, "is all I, or anyone, should require to know. And in return, I shall do everything in my power to see to it that your stay is safe, comfortable, and pleasant -- for you and for all concerned."

"But you can't guarantee that," Remus's mother said. Her voice was stark and sharp and freezing. Remus looked up at her, shocked at the sound of it.

Dumbledore's expression, however, was mild, almost amused. "Alas, Mrs. Lupin, nothing in life is certain."

"I don't understand." Her voice was spiking in pitch, spiking in intensity, she was sitting forward so far she looked like she might spring to her feet at any moment, and Remus had to look far away from her, embarrassed and miserable. "He's _eleven years old_. He's too young -- How can you let him make a decision like that on his own?"

"Because it is a decision that will affect him most of anyone," Dumbledore said. With no amusement now, at least. He only looked grave, and watchful. "And, might I add, one that parallels the one you yourself were allowed to make at the very same age, Silvia. I must ask you not to begrudge your son the same privilege."

She had stiffened at the sound of her given name, but when he had finished speaking her posture altered indefinably, making Remus dare to glance back at her face. Some of the color had come back to it, but it looked troubled and careworn and older than he would have liked. She stared into her lap for a moment -- a gesture like his that made him see some of how he looked in her -- and at last back up at Dumbledore.

"He'll never be entirely safe anywhere," she said, tightly and tiredly. "You mustn't promise him that."

"Mum -- " Remus tried, but she shot him such a forbidding look that he bit his lip and gave it up. Dumbledore glanced between them before settling on her.

"I do not believe I promised any such thing. In fact, it seems to be my recollection that I advised him to be cautious, for that very reason." He pushed to his feet, and smiled at her, again, over the rims of his spectacles. "And now, before I answer any further concerns, might I ask you to excuse us, please? You and I will have a great deal to discuss amongst ourselves, certainly, but I would like to speak to Mr. Lupin alone just for the moment."

Remus's mother tensed again for just a second, her mouth opening as if to speak -- and then she seemed to give it up, rising to her feet as well. "Very well," she said, almost in a mutter. "I'll wait outside, then." She touched Remus's hair as she passed, making him look up at her in surprise. "Be good," she said, and managed to give him a small tight smile, and he answered it, feeling guilty and confused. She _did_ care about him, very much, he knew that; probably he was being ungrateful and wretched about the whole thing. He watched her go, before turning to face front again, his chest a misery of baffled, mingled warmth and hurt.

Even in spite of all that, however, though intellectually he knew that being left alone in a strange office with a doubly strange man should have made him _more_ nervous, Remus actually found he felt a thousand times better as the door shut with his mother on the other side of it. He relaxed into his chair, finding that his lungs would fill all the way again, and at last let his right thumb worry an old scar on his left wrist: an old nervous gesture, never quite banished in spite of his mother's best, hounding efforts.

"Have another truffle, Mr. Lupin," said Dumbledore as he rounded the desk to his chair again. This time the box proffered itself, floating bobbingly on the air as though on water, and Remus nearly jumped out of his seat. ...Well, he could see why _that_ had waited until his mother was out of the room.

"I-I'll spoil my supper," he said, barely above a whisper, although a hint of a smile found its way across his mouth as he peered up at Dumbledore through the shaggy hair on his forehead. Dumbledore smiled back, making his sigh easier to bear.

"In the event of that terrible occurrence, I promise I shall take full responsibility." He indicated the box, and Remus caved, selected a little star-carved one that poured a delicate, astonishing cream flavor into his mouth. He couldn't help but close his eyes, soothed but also oddly dizzy.

"Splendid." Dumbledore picked up a quill and began scrawling at a parchment. "Then our work here is more or less done. When you arrive in three weeks' time, all arrangements will have been made for your safety. You'll receive a list of items required for first-years shortly, and every merchant on the list will be more than willing to do business by owl if necessary."

Remus' mouth was too full of chocolate to speak, and the chocolate was too delicious to be devoured too quickly, but he managed to get his voice back with no small effort. "...Sir, is that all?"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, his quill never faltering in its motions. "I beg your pardon?"

"I mean... is that really all there is to it?" Remus swallowed again -- catching lingering shreds of flavour -- and squared his shoulders, trying to look braver than he felt. "I don't have to, to pass a test, or _prove_ that I'm magic, or... sign something...?"

For a moment, there was no response, and Remus wondered if he'd said something inappropriate -- wizard ways were strange, that much at least he'd learnt already, and because the last thing he wanted was to offend Professor Dumbledore, it was also the most likely thing he'd end up doing, given the ordinary state of his luck. Then Dumbledore stilled his pen, setting it in an inkwell that looked like a great iron bird's foot, and looked Remus straight on. "The state of your fitness to attend Hogwarts has never been in question, Mr. Lupin," Dumbledore said, and Remus was relieved to hear he sounded more surprised than anything else. "I thought you might have determined that much from the start. If you have received an invitation to attend a wizarding school, then it is a wizard you surely are -- despite any efforts, by yourself or any other, to prove anything to the contrary." Remus glanced down, away from the look in his disconcertingly twinkly eyes, trying to convince himself he didn't know what it meant. "You are a brave young man, Remus Lupin, one whose strength and courage I have scarce seen in a man of any age. You strike out into the unknown with the ferocity of the boldest explorer, and it will be my pleasure and privilege to do anything I may to aid you in your quest, over these coming years. Now, I bid you take one final truffle, for my sake as much as for yours; and then, for the time being, I shall also bid you adieu." The box sidled in Remus' direction again, looking shifty, and Remus could have sworn each wrinkle in Dumbledore's face looked like a smile.

Absent any response to this, and certain he'd already begun to blush to the tips of his toes, Remus reached for a dark piece shaped like a maple leaf. This one he bit cautiously in half first, exposing its heart-coloured center and marvelling at how it tasted exactly like autumn. The same gold glow returned to his vision, this time lingering long and firm, and Remus felt as giddy and sweet and confused as if the whole world were spread before him, and he had just hit his head.

"...Professor Dumbledore," he said after clearing his mouth of chocolate, cautious not to startle or offend, "I ... think these chocolates may have _alcohol_ in them."

"Really?" Dumbledore smiled. "Oh dear. It must have slipped my mind."

\---

Of course, as miraculous and strange as the rest of the day might have been, there was hardly anything to make him feel more like he was in his own life again than lying in his bed that night, staring up through the dark at the ceiling of his tiny closety room, dry-eyed and waiting with his hands pressed over his ears for his parents to give up and go to bed.

It wasn't that they fought _often_ , but that the instances were always memorable, defining. The time after he'd been bitten was the main one, and the only thing about that whole time of his life he could really even remember with any accuracy; it seemed to have been carved into his mind by misery, burning and unforgettable. His father shouting _What have your lot done to us_ now _?_ and his mother shouting _They're not_ my _lot, John! They were never_ my _lot, and it's nothing_ I've _done,_ and his bluster and her most cutting tone and himself, lying in the dark, his eyes squeezed shut, willing himself not to hear. Lying alone in the dark, for that matter, even then; all of his brothers shared rooms, but he'd had his own starting from then, his own parents unconsciously starting the lifelong process of making him a pariah and outcast. It was a bribe at first, something to distract him from his pain and confusion and distress, and then a necessity -- privacy for his wounds and bed-rest. It was an unpleasant luxury in any case, although for a wonder the other boys seemed to accept it with bemused good grace, to have no trouble believing even without explanation that their youngest brother was simply odd and sickly and unfortunate enough to merit special treatment. He'd never been close to any of them, and was even less so for his enforced solitude, but what about that? So much the better for keeping it from them.

He eased one palm off the cup of his ear, experimentally, heard " -- _for freaks and lunatics!_ " from downstairs, winced and covered it again. They were showing no signs of slowing down; maybe he just ought to pull his pillow over the side of his head, and sleep like that, with the little warm stale air he could pull to his mouth in between.

They didn't fight about money, although it was always tight, or about his brothers, although they half-flunked subjects all the time and occasionally got into cheerful, boys-will-be-boys fistfights at school, or about anything else they might have fought about, as far as Remus could see. That was the problem, really. It was always, only, ever about him. Remus the youngest, Remus the oddest, Remus the most like his disliked grandmother and lamented aunt and who got bitten and hurt and invited to strange schools and it was all just a little too exasperating, in the end, to bother with.

Those weren't charitable thoughts; they weren't really even true thoughts, probably, down at their bottom. But he was tired and wanted to go to sleep, and couldn't, and he wasn't in a charitable mood.

Three weeks, he thought, thinking of his talk with Dumbledore this afternoon, the one that already seemed like a pleasant and bizarre dream he had had weeks ago, in the small hours of morning. Three weeks until he left them for a different life, the life none of them had ever wanted for him, or wanted any part of for themselves, and if that was for all the right reasons then it was for all the wrong ones too. He closed his eyes and breathed it in, the thought of it, the joy and excitement and terror and anxiety, along with the cool night air from his cracked-open window. Three weeks right now seemed like a hundred back-to-back forevers, and not like nearly enough time to be prepared -- not only with all the arcane objects he'd undoubtedly need for his school year, but mentally, inside. Three weeks was like a death sentence, he thought; but so oddly, oddly kind.

An angry raised voice reached such a pitch that it found his ears, penetrating through the skin and bone of his hands like a weapon; and as he winced down deeper under the covers he decided, with sudden startling passion, that he would count off the days.

\---

Sirius banged into his father's room and slammed the door, then rebounded off the oak chest by the wall with his foot leading, less a kick than a full-body crash. He landed hard on his shoulders against the wall, heavy and panting, his lips stripped back from clenched teeth.

"Mm?" his father said from the bed, and Sirius heaved out a sigh. Great, now he'd gone and woken him up as well. Sweaty hair was in his eyes, and he jerked it back with his hand. He waited to see if the old man would fade out again, but the soft, foggy voice persisted. "Alphard? Have they come again? Is everything ready?"

"No, Dad, it's Sirius," Sirius said tiredly, sliding down the wall to drop into a sit on the chest. Listening to clattering elsewhere in the house, but he couldn't hear any raised voices. So he left the room and she just forgot about him, did she? His hands clenched in fists on his thighs, and for half a second he thought of storming right back down there to let her know she couldn't get away with it, before realizing that was probably exactly what she'd been after. A tiny scowl curled up his lip. He hated having the better gotten of him, even almost, especially by _her_.

Propped up against the pillows, curd-colored and oddly childlike in his silk pajamas and the dim light, his father frowned. "Sirius...?"

"Yeah, I'm your son, remember?" He pressed his ear against the door again. He was the only one of the whole family who had any patience with his dad anymore, he sometimes thought; his mother would snap at him and argue when he didn't remember her, thrust food at him and lock the door, and he made Regulus too nervous to ever stay in the room for long. He guessed he might have felt proud, but there didn't seem to be much reason for pride in it. It was just his dad was a lot nicer to be around than most people he knew.

"Hmmm." His father seemed to concentrate on this idea for a long time. It was sort of like dealing with some of his very old relatives that he'd been made to be polite to, except his dad wasn't that old, not much more than fifty. "Are you certain?"

That actually startled Sirius into laughing, and he glanced around at his father, smiling at him a little. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

"Good," his father said, and his gaze was already fixing on something middle-distant again; "that's good." At least he was calm today, not having one of his panicky spells; that was something, wasn't it? Sirius listened again, and now he realized with a start he could hear footsteps -- coming down the hall, now coming into the next room. He slammed his shoulder into the door just as the knob jiggled, and when it pushed toward him he shoved it right shut again. There was a small "oof" from the other side.

"Sirius, are you in there?" Regulus. Sirius rolled his eyes, and pushed himself off the chest entirely, to brace on the floor against the door.

"No. It's Dad. I'm having an episode and blocking the door. Boo hoo, worms in my head."

There was a sound that might have been a tiny muffled snerk. "You're an idiot," Reg said, though, as witheringly as possible, which wasn't very coming from a nine-year-old. He pushed on the door again, and Sirius shoved it shut. "Come on, let me in."

"Let me in," Sirius mimicked in a faint falsetto, although his heart wasn't much in it. He let his head fall back against the wood with a soft _thunk_. "Mum send you up?"

There was a long faltering pause. "No," Reg said at the end of it, and Sirius snorted laughter.

"What does she want?"

"For you to stop acting like a child, she said," Reg nearly muttered outside, and Sirius sat up a little straighter, scowling out at nothing but air and his own innocent, vague father.

"Yeah? Fine. Well, you can tell her _I_ said I don't _care_ if I'm acting like a child, I'm _not_ going to the platform to Hogwarts with bloody _Kreacher_."

"Don't swear, she'll hear you," Regulus interrupted in a tone as much cross as worried, but Sirius wasn't to be stopped.

"I don't care, let her hear me!" Unable to keep from raising his voice again, although at this time he fortunately failed to catch his father's attention. " _Nobody_ has their stupid _house-elf_ see them off to school. It's not _normal_! He smells like mothballs and he calls me names the second she leaves the room, you can tell her _that_ too, and I'd sooner go alone!"

"No, I can't!" Reg burst out in a shrill frustrated yelp, and there was a dim shuddering thud as though he'd struck the door. "I _hate_ it when you won't even fight to your faces, I can never remember everything you said about each other and you always end up cross with _me_!"

Sirius gaped at nothing for a long moment this time, and then burst out laughing.

"It's not funny," Reg said miserably, with his mouth smushed right against the wood, it sounded like. Sirius could hear little shakes of breath in it, though where his mouth had twisted and twitched around the words. "I hate you."

"You are a brain-dead little toad," Sirius said, a bit fondly, and scooted forward across the floor, so the door could just open far enough to let a Reg-sized person squeeze through. "Come on, then, stop banging your head on the door."

"I'm not banging my head on the -- " Reg protested, squeezing in the door, and then faltered halfway in. "Oh. Um. Hullo, Dad."

Their father didn't seem to register the new entry, and after a moment Sirius looked back at Regulus and shrugged. "He was talking a while ago but I think he's out now," he said. "Get in here and shut the door, if you're coming, what if mum's spying."

"You deserve it," Reg muttered, but he did as Sirius asked anyway, and surprised and amused him by plopping down on the floor right next to his older brother, adding his back to the leaning weight against the door. "...I wish I could go with you."

Sirius made a face, propping up his knees and slinging his arms over them. "What are you talking about? You'll love it. You'll have mum all to yourself and nobody'll make you remember stuff."

Reg wrinkled his nose in return. "It'll be boring. Mum'll drag me round to visit aunts."

"Oh, come on. Nobody shouting..."

Regulus snorted. "Without you around she'll only have me to shout at."

"She doesn't shout at you."

"She doesn't _notice_ me, as long as you're in the room." Sirius opened his mouth to protest this and, finding he actually couldn't, shut it again, frowning.

"Well -- no worries, the aunts'll stuff you full of cakes. You can just roll away when she starts shouting. Like a dustball." He puffed out his cheeks, miming a mighty gust of wind, and Regulus put his mouth against his knees to hide that he was laughing again.

"That's stupid, Sirius." He sighed, and played with a corner of his robes. Sirius had already started refusing to wear his, going around the house in denims and t-shirts he'd obtained on the sly, just to make his mother furious, but Regulus soldiered on. "...You expect there'll be, you know, people who aren't pureblood at school?"

"'Course there will," Sirius snorted, with a hearty disdain he didn't really feel. "Don't be a prat. You've heard mum rant about the headmaster they've got now."

"Yeah..." Reg bit his lip, staring at his fidgeting fingers. "Are you scared?"

" _What?_ " Sirius was silent for a moment, just staring at Reg, he told himself out of sheer disgust. "Of course I'm not. Why would I be _scared_?"

Regulus shrugged, and let his hands fall in his lap, looking at Sirius again. "I'd be scared."

"You're scared of everything."

"I am not." Reg scowled, dropping his head a little. "It'll just -- be _different_."

"Can't be different enough for me," Sirius muttered. Reg didn't say anything to that, but Sirius could feel him _wanting_ to, stewing in it. Good. Let him. Let _both_ of them, him and his mum, stew all they wanted in how much Sirius wanted to be as far away from them as possible. He rather relished the thought of all that stewing more than the thought of actually going away.

"Think you'll be in Slytherin?" Reg asked next, peering at him, and Sirius shrugged.

"Well, mum'll chop off my head and put it up alongside the house-elves' if I'm not." Reg scowled again at that -- Sirius knew perfectly well he hated the mounted elf heads and avoided going past them anytime he could, had actually had _nightmares_ about them when he was six, which Sirius had thought then and still thought was hilarious -- and Sirius tried his best to smirk. "I dunno. I guess."

"D'you think you'll make lots of friends?"

Sirius sighed, thumping his head back on the door again. "I don't care if I make _any_ friends, as long as I get to see _somebody_ who's not my cousin or you or bloody mum." Reg's brow creased again, and he looked away, fussed with his robe some more. "I don't know, Reg. It's school. You do whatever you do at school. Make friends, go to class, get boiled in oil for picking your pimples if you believe Phineas. Which I _don't_ ," he added, when it looked like Reg was going to say something else.

"Will you write to me?"

Sirius sneered, shoving an elbow into Regulus's side; Reg jerked and pulled away, probably fearing a more concerted attack to follow. "Quit being a baby."

"I'm not being a baby! Merlin, Sirius, why are you such a wanker?"

Sirius took his retreat as weakness, breaking into a half-snarl grin and lunging for him; he managed to catch Regulus's flailing wrists before Reg could do more than yelp, tackling him toward the floor. "Oooh, is ickle Reggikins _swearing_ now? Look out or mummy'll hear, and then he won't be _allowed_ to go see the aunts, _oh no, he can't today, he's got to dust the elf-heads --_ "

"Get _off_!" Reg gave a shove so terrific Sirius fell back, cackling dutifully, rather than submit to the indignity of wrestling to maintain his position, and then Reg was sitting huffing and ruffled, glaring at him, scrambled half up onto his knees. "I _do_ hate you!" This came with such unexpected force that he sprayed spit on Sirius slightly, which he would have taken pains to draw attention to if Reg hadn't still been shouting. "All you ever think about is _you_! You're just going off to school, you're not that special, you can stop acting like you're -- getting out of _jail_ or something!"

"I _am_ getting out of jail," Sirius said, after a moment's silence. Feeling like he was catching the words in his teeth. "Or something."

"You're a giant wanker, is what you are." Reg hauled himself up to his feet, smacking dust off his robes in a prissy way that might have been funny if Sirius hadn't been so suddenly wrong-footed and hacked off all over again. Reg wouldn't lift his head, and Sirius thought his face looked a little wet. The thought just made him angrier than ever, and he hurled himself away from the door, wanting to break it or the chest or _something_ with the sheer might of his stupid, brainless anger. "Fine, _don't_ write to me. See if I care."

"I didn't say I wouldn't write to you," Sirius said, in a furious undertone. It was a stupid thing to say, but all of it was stupid.

"I don't care. I don't want you to anymore anyway."

"Piss off, Reg," Sirius said, without rancor. He closed his eyes, and waited; and after a few minutes, muttering and stomping and yanking the door open hard enough to smack Sirius in the thigh with it, Reg pissed off.

He stayed where he was a long time, legs crossed under him on the floor, the door still open as far as it would go around him, and then pushed himself up to his feet off the chest. His dad was still staring at nothing at all that was there, his mouth slightly slack, his hair -- still mostly black except for fine threads of silver at the temples -- hanging in limp tangles around his face. There was a thin thread of drool depending from the corner of his mouth, and Sirius sighed and went over to him to wipe it off with the edge of the sheet. His father didn't appear to notice. Sirius hovered for a second, then plopped on the bed next to him, grabbing a gold-backed hairbrush off the bedside table and starting to work at the tangles in his dad's hair with it; yeah, it was girl stuff, but _somebody_ had to do it, and his mother wasn't exactly a big one for girl stuff, come to that. His father sat, obediently, wherever Sirius pushed him, and let him work. It was sort of comforting, in a way, getting to make at least one of his parents do something he wanted.

"You won't miss me, will you Dad?" Sirius said under his breath, to the snarls of dark hair he was trying not to yank. His dad made absolutely no response, sitting as placidly still and absent as he ever had. And after a few moments longer, Sirius found that he could smile again.


	2. On the Merits of Deceit; the Wisdom of Hats; the Fear of Discovery; and the Politics of Wands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Remus Lupin has a crush on Sirius Black; Sirius Black has a crush on James Potter; and James Potter has a crush on James Potter.

When Remus and his mother arrived between platforms 9 and 10 of King's Cross, her lips compressed without visible cause -- a condition that made Remus jumpy and alert under the best of circumstances, but drove him nigh to panic now. Once she'd explained what he'd have to do, though, he supposed he could understand her dislike; he couldn't say he liked it much himself.  
  
"Aren't you coming with me?" he asked before he could think, and then at her expression finally dropped his eyes, biting his lip. "...no, never mind. It's all right."  
  
She hesitated. "I could -- " she said, just as he said in a rush, over her, stopping her, "No, mum, really -- don't worry, I'll be fine." A flicker of something crossed her face -- guilt or weariness or even annoyance -- but then it was gone, and she smiled at him, rare and warm.  
  
"You're a good boy," was all she said, and paused just long enough to make him acutely aware of it before hugging him, smoothing her hands over the back of his shirt. Her voice was low and fierce in his ear. " _Be careful._ Remember what Professor Dumbledore said. Just \-- do as you're told, and look after yourself, and be very, very careful, all right?" He nodded, and she patted his back, then drew back to simply hold his shoulders, bending down over him. "I love you, Remus. Do you know that?"  
  
He swallowed a little as he nodded. He did know. "Are you angry with me?" he dared, at last, when she'd only been looking at him for long moments. She frowned, looking startled, and then smiled again with a moment's rueful downward cast to her eyes.  
  
"No. I'm just... Well, I..." She sighed, and rubbed his shoulders for a second before straightening again. The loss of the touch made him hurt, just the tiniest bit, inside his chest. "No, I'm not angry. I'm worried about you. And I'll miss you very much. That's all."  
  
Remus found that he rather doubted that, and then that he felt even guiltier for it. "I'll miss you too," he said, with only the slightest bit of determination. Hoping it could keep him from wondering whether _that_ was true.  
  
She smiled at him again, just a little bit, although it barely touched her eyes. "I suppose I'll have to get used to taking owl post again," she said. "Write to me straight away if you need anything. Or if you have any trouble at all on Sunday. All right?" He nodded again, and he had hoped, just a little, that she would hug him one more time, or ruffle his hair; but she didn't, only lifting her hand to him for a moment as though he were a distant acquaintance. He smiled back, as best he could, and gathered up his oversized, unwieldy valise and little wheeled trunk again, trying to avoid her eyes.  
  
"I'll see you soon," his mother said, and left him there to contemplate the divider alone.  
  
\---  
  
Sirius sighed, and fidgeted with his traveling cloak; he'd only consented to throw it on over his preferred clothing for something of a compromise, ultimately, to keep his mother in an amiable mood. She'd come along to take him after all, although Reg had in the end refused to join them, and now stood chatting with her sister-in-law, while Narcissa examined her nails and looked bored on the other side of them. Sirius would have been able to relate, except that -- Andromeda apart -- he'd made it a policy not to be able to relate to his cousins on anything. No experience he'd ever had with Bellatrix had ever suggested to him she was other than evil incarnate, and not even in an exciting way, whereas Cissy was merely something like a dishrag that someone had covered in makeup and nightshade perfume. He spared one more wistful thought for how brilliant it'd be if Dromeda were still at school this year, then sighed again.  
  
Other students and their families went milling past them, quite a lot of these giving his mother and Aunt Druella a wide berth. Most of the students were older, although he thought that he'd spotted a few other first-years like him: a haughty dark-haired girl he thought he recognized as the little sister of one of Narcissa's friends, an anxious little round boy being fussed over frantically by his equally round mother across the way, others moving by and pressing close and pressing away again. He looked over the ones he thought he'd identified with more intensity than he might've liked to admit to, trying to get the measure of them, but of course there was no way of knowing. They all looked very young to him, but then, he reckoned he looked the same way.  
  
One of these -- a skinny, dark-haired boy in glasses being trailed by an older couple who looked positively transported with pride, the woman dabbing at her eyes -- passed by him on his way to the train. The boy glanced over and saw Sirius looking, and before Sirius could look away, grinned over his mother's sniffles, with a short glance heavenward as if to say _parents, eh?_ Sirius grinned back, broadly -- although he thought it'd take a Bereavement Bewitchment to get his own mother to cry about anything to do with him -- and then sharp, strong fingers curled into Sirius's shoulder.  
  
"Not our _kind_ , Sirius," his mother said _sotto voce_ , near his ear, although enunciating every syllable with perfect, bitten clarity. He hadn't even noticed her conversation falling off, and supposed bitterly that he deserved what he got. Her grip slackened a little, and she straightened, although still hovering behind his shoulder. "You must learn to take care for your choices of association from now on. A rather unsavory rabble has been given the run of Hogwarts in recent years, I regret to say." She sniffed, which only his mum could make sound like she seldom bothered breathing at all, and was only doing it now for your benefit. "Connections are one of many things that mark the difference between a great wizard and one in disgrace. You would do well to remember that. Druella -- " and now she had raised her voice back to an ordinary speaking level, aiming it back over her shoulder -- "doesn't your brother have a son around Sirius's age?"  
  
Sirius didn't bother listening to whatever the answer was; knowing what Aunt Druella's daughters were like, he didn't even want to imagine her other nephew. He just gritted his teeth and said nothing -- too anxious to have this done with to want another row here on the train platform -- but was at least grateful to note that the other boy had already turned back to let himself be herded before seeing Sirius's mother grab him. Sirius marked him, picked out his back and those of his hovering mum and dad as they disappeared forward into the crush of people. Watched them go, thinking, _Whoever they are, my mum_ hates _them._  
  
Once he had finally escaped -- after one final disapproving once-over and admonition to bring pride to the family, with an added attempt at a dry handshake that he managed to evade -- he hurried into the queue to get into the train, letting other students close around his back and hide him from his mother's sharp eyes. He yanked off his traveling cloak at once, stuffing it under the arm that wasn't hauling his trunk, and bumped and pushed his way forward through shoulders and arms until he spotted the boy in glasses again, then continued to nudge his way through until they were side-by-side.  
  
"Hi," he said, and was just a tiny bit relieved when the boy first glanced around, then grinned in recognition. "First year for you too?"  
  
"Yeah. Can't wait." The boy stuck out his hand. "I'm James."  
  
 _James,_ Sirius thought as he accepted the handshake, delighted by the sound of it, the _idea_ of it. It sounded like a Muggle's name. "I'm Sirius."  
  
\---  
  
Remus would never be sure how long he sat alone in the train compartment he'd chosen, staring out the window and clutching his valise to his chest to keep his hands from shaking, before the door banged open again -- maybe as much as an hour, maybe less than fifteen minutes -- but when the two boys about his age tumbled in, breathless and in half-hysterics, it didn't seem to matter anymore. Remus jumped at the banging door, and then just stared at the two of them, a little dumbfounded and not all from surprise. The first one was skinny and gangly, with dark rumpled hair and a pair of glasses hanging askew from his nose; the second one was taller, a little more sturdily built, with overlong dark hair that hung in his crinkled, laughing eyes, and one of the handsomest boys Remus had ever seen, even more than the most popular ones at his primary school had been. They piled in almost on top of each other, landing in twin heaps on the opposite seat, alternately laughing and shushing each other.  
  
The second boy -- the really good-looking one -- pulled himself up at once and hauled at his friend's t-shirt, pulling him along. He adjusted himself for a hasty moment before turning to Remus (who shrank back just a little, alarmed to be noticed) and hissing, " _We've been here all along._ "  
  
Remus didn't even have time to ask what that meant before the compartment door burst open again. This time, it admitted a harried-looking older boy with a sandy-blond shag of hair, dressed in Hogwarts robes that looked much smarter than Remus's secondhand ones had when he'd tried them on. They also bore the additions of a badge with a P on it pinned to the chest, which Remus didn't understand right away, and a silver-and-green striped tie. He carried something that looked a bit like a clipboard -- although quite a bit shiftier than most clipboards Remus had ever known -- and affixed the two boys with an extremely long-suffering look before looking over it. "Potter?" he inquired, after a moment's study.  
  
"What about it?" the boy in glasses asked with great good cheer. The older boy looked sour.  
  
"And..." He consulted his notes again. "Black?" The handsome boy raised an eyebrow, inquiringly, and the older boy shook his head. "Come on now, _you're_ at least from a good family; surely you know better. We're not even at school yet and you two are already making trouble? Haven't you got _any_ sense?"  
  
"I dunno what you could mean," the handsome boy -- Black? -- said, with a completely sober expression. "We've just been sitting here quietly, haven't we, James?"  
  
James -- glasses boy -- nodded, pressing a hand to his heart. "Thinking how we can't wait to have homework, we were."  
  
The boy with the P on his chest looked unamused. "So I suppose you don't know anything about a charm on the mirror in the girls' toilet over there?" Both boys shook their heads, but with strange, compressed expressions that told Remus everything. To his alarm, however, the older boy turned to him then. "They just came running in here a moment ago, didn't they?"  
  
Remus barely hesitated. "...No, sir. Th-they've been here all along."  
  
The boy blinked at him -- although he also seemed to puff up slightly at being called 'sir.' "...Are you sure of that?" His expression turned stern. It occurred to Remus that he had never, as far as he could remember, lied to an authority figure before in his life, and he tried not to think too hard about it. "You're a first year too, aren't you? You don't want trouble on your first day of school. Are you _absolutely_ sure they've been here?"  
  
The other two boys exchanged uneasy looks. Remus swallowed slightly, but when he answered his voice was firmer than ever. "Yes. I am."  
  
The older boy's expression faltered back to troubled, and he cast looks from one side of the compartment to the other for a moment. Finally, he harrumphed to himself, turned, and left without another word.  
  
There was a long, awkward pause.  
  
"Thanks, mate," the handsome boy said at last, grinning at Remus and leaning forward to casually clap him on the shoulder. "You're a lifesaver."  
  
Remus, who'd never been called anything of the sort before, couldn't help puffing up a little himself. Although not without a resurgence of terror. "You're welcome. ...Did... did you really put a charm on the girls' mirror?"  
  
The handsome boy glanced at the boy in glasses, and they both broke up laughing, which Remus supposed was as good an answer as any. And for that matter, he was a little amazed to find himself smiling along.  
  
"Did you get a look at him?" the boy in glasses who seemed to be called James choked at last through his snickers, to the handsome boy, jabbing a thumb back at the door the older boy had disappeared through. "Blimey. Didn't expect he'd be able to fit that head through the door. Would you really want to be in Slytherin with a load of gits like that?"  
  
"Never said I wanted to be in Slytherin," the handsome boy said absently, but he was looking frowningly after the way the older boy had gone, and Remus thought something about it looked more disquieted than disgusted.  
  
"What's a Slytherin?" Remus asked; he was so distracted watching the boy's face that it just came right out before he could think about it, and then he had to struggle not to clap his hands over his mouth when they both turned to look at him. The boy in the glasses only looked amused, though, the handsome boy both incredulous and intrigued.  
  
"One of the houses, at Hogwarts," the boy in glasses said, with an air of breezy authority. "Everybody gets put in one or another, depending what they're like and whether they're a great fat git or not. Slytherin's 'yes' on great fat git, by the by." He grinned at the handsome boy, slyly -- although not, Remus sensed, with much malice, more as though it were a private joke they already shared. "No offense meant." The handsome boy snorted but said nothing, and James, in the glasses, turned back to Remus, lighting with curiosity. "Oi, you're not Muggle-born, are you?"  
  
"Er... a bit, yes," Remus said. He supposed he could explain the truth of the matter, but it seemed like it would be a mountainous, absurd effort, more than he or either of these boys could possibly want to sit still for. "...Is that bad?"  
  
The handsome boy got something of an odd look on his face at that, making Remus frown, but the other cut in over him before he could say anything -- if he'd planned to say anything at all. "Nah, just different," he said, waving his hand. "There's loads of Muggle-borns in my village, and they're just the same as anybody else, excepting that. My mum and dad have got some friends who're Muggles, too, and they're brilliant, I've been to their house, it's completely weird. Move everything round by hand, like little kids. Wires and things sticking out everywhere." He shook his head, as though to express how utterly unfathomable this display of complete normalcy must be to him. "I'm James Potter, anyway. What's your name?"  
  
"Remus," Remus said, and only a second later realized he hadn't introduced himself by initials. But then, if there were ever a time for his actual name, wasn't this it? "Remus Lupin." He held out his hand, and James shook it, grinning.  
  
"Sirius Black," the handsome boy said, and accepted Remus's hand next, folding it into one that was surprisingly large and strong for someone of their age. He seemed a touch subdued after this latest from James, but when he met Remus's eyes he smiled, with a warmth that looked genuine. Remus's stomach did something odd, and though he smiled as well, he found he had to do it looking somewhere else.  
  
They stayed and talked the whole trip through, mostly the other two boys to each other -- although not going to any lengths to exclude Remus and sometimes involving him, especially if he gathered the courage to ask a question or offer something. Nor did they seem irritated or put-upon when he did, like his brothers might've done. He heard about the "slimy git" and "stuck-up bird" they'd told off in their previous compartment, with Sirius chiming in with a pair of impressions -- mostly in just facial expression -- that were really very funny, if more than a little cruel. He listened to them talk about everything they'd heard about Hogwarts, debate what might happen at the Sorting, and clenched his fingers a little deeper in his valise as subtly as he could. They seemed so fluent, so comfortable, as though this were a journey that had been waiting for them their entire lives: confident captains on a calm and endless sea. Remus couldn't even bring himself to envy them; they were so far beyond anything he could imagine.  
  
For some reason he couldn't bring himself to stop looking at the one called Sirius, the side of his face as he laughed at James's jokes and thought intently about his questions.  
  
They separated after the train arrived, in the midst of being herded into boats ( _boats?_ ), and he lost sight of them after that; he ended up packed in with a couple of quiet, anxious-looking girls holding hands and a larger boy with a sour face, and was occupied for some time with casting uneasy glances down at the dark, churning water of the lake beneath them. But as the lights of the castle finally began to draw near, he found himself thinking of them again, for no good reason and with a tiny smile drawn to his lips by the memory. Even if he didn't end up seeing them again all that much, or at all, he was grateful for them on this first, terrifying day; emboldened by their easy acceptance, even if it would probably never be so easy if they knew anything like the full truth of him. Even still, soothed as he never thought he could be by the simple words, _Nah, just different._  
  
 _Sirius Black,_ he thought, for no reason at all, and felt his stomach do another slow, leisurely flip inside him.  
  
\---  
  
Ultimately there was nothing planned, predictable, or premeditated about it. When Sirius got to the Sorting Hat, he just panicked.  
  
 _Don't you dare put me in Slytherin,_ he thought at it wildly the second he'd put it on his head, before it could even say a word. _I'm not like the rest of them, I don't belong there._  
  
"Oh?" said a small voice in his ear: far more intimate than the voice that had been shouting out house names, and sounding distinctly amused. "And how clever you must be, to know my business better than I do!"  
  
He clenched his fingers on his thighs. _No, I didn't -- just_ don't _, all right? Trust me. I'll go mad. I'll go worse than mad. I'll go_ rabid _. I'll be trapped every day for the next seven years with Narcissa and her boyfriend who looks more like her brother and all their slimy inbred friends and Aunt Druella's other nephew whoever he is and every single other person in Britain who's related to me, and I'll go completely and utterly mad and hang myself with one of those ugly neckties, all right? And then you'll have me on your conscience, if hats've got consciences, so save yourself the trouble. I'm_ not _a Slytherin. I'm not._  
  
"Ah, but you could be," the hat's small voice said in his ear, slyly. "The potential in your head is quite vast, and in Slytherin you _would_ find the means to tap it..."  
  
Sirius gritted his teeth, and then was suddenly self-conscious about whether that showed beneath the sagging brim. _No, I wouldn't! I would_ kill myself _! Doesn't tap much potential at all, does it? Look, anywhere else -- how about Gryffindor, that Potter bloke seems all right --_ Hufflepuff _, I don't_ care _, just not bloody_ Slytherin _._  
  
"If you -- " the hat began, but he interrupted it, casting around in desperation.  
  
 _Look, I_ mean _it -- I'm not even like one, honestly, I don't even care about blood purity, I think it's all probably a load of rubbish actually, and I haven't got any ambitions other than to get through school without being bored into an early grave._ He waited, but the hat seemed to have been startled into silence -- or was waiting to be certain he was finished -- and he clenched up his hands again. _Are you even_ listening _? Look, I'll -- we can make a deal, all right? All right? Name your price, name_ anything _, and I'll do it. Just do this for me._  
  
"Spoken like the truest of Slytherins," said the hat, sounding more amused than ever. Sirius's teeth clicked together.  
  
 _WHAT DO YOU KNOW YOU ARE A HAT._ He stopped at once, and forced himself to take a long, slow breath, pulling himself together. By now he was certain that the silence in the Great Hall had achieved legendary length; he could hear awkward shufflings and throat-clearings from outside the hat's slightly smelly darkness. _All right, I..._ He clenched his hands one more time, then made them relax. _All right, I_ give up _. Forget it. Do whatever you think, I guess, you're the hat here, and all that. Just... I don't_ want _to be in Slytherin, I don't think, and --_  
  
"You don't?" inquired the hat, affecting amazement. "Well, why didn't you say so?" And then at once, in its loud, room-filling voice, it shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"  
  
And the silence that followed _that_ was even deeper, and somehow even worse.  
  
He set the hat down as though it were explosive, taking as long as possible before he would have to turn back around and face the rest of the Hall. Nor did it disappoint when he did. A number of students -- especially the other first years, the few already seated or the rest in the line -- merely looked politely puzzled, but a great number more were staring openly, mouths gaping, as though unable to begin to process what they had just heard. A good chunk of the Gryffindor table was thus far too stunned even to clap. Sirius's walk over to it seemed to take a very long time, and for probably the first time in his life he found himself wishing that everyone in the room would find something to look at besides him. It wasn't _that_ big a deal, was it? He couldn't be the _first_. It was -- well, it was just...  
  
He didn't even want to _look_ at the Slytherin table, but as he passed he found there was no way to keep his eyes away; they just kept pulling toward it as though it were a magnet. Nearly everyone there looked horror-struck. Narcissa's mouth hung open unattractively, and her obnoxious boyfriend was even paler than ordinary, eyes narrowed to slits, with a muscle working in his closed jaw. It wasn't quite as satisfying as it could have been.  
  
Fresh panic struck as he finally -- finally! it seemed to have taken _years_ , although it was no more than a few yards and behind him the next name had already been called -- reached the bench of Gryffindors. Moving aside to make a place for him, the students already there seemed to give him a very wide berth indeed, and his chest tightened up like a wind-up toy's. What exactly had he _done_? Or had he done it at all? Either way, it was done, and here he stood in the wrongest possible place. How could this possibly be the right decision? Part of him, he didn't really like to admit, wanted to gabble and protest; it wanted him to leap back up and shout, _Excuse me, a mistake has been made, everyone knows Blacks go to Slytherin and that's how it's done! What exactly are you playing at, hat, putting me in the wrong house? Fix it now!_  
  
But the part of him that wanted to sit down, he discovered with some relief, was still bigger. And so he sat.  
  
With that much done, he could breathe a little, and glancing around the Hall again found most people had at least stopped looking at him -- except, he saw, for James Potter, the boy he'd met on the train. When his eyes landed on Potter, still standing in line, the boy grinned at him, and gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up sign from between the boy and girl before and after him. Sirius couldn't help but smile back, and ducked his head a little. Well, at least _one_ person was on his side in this, even if it all went to hell otherwise.  
  
 _My mother's going to kill me,_ he thought, actually a touch wonderingly, marvelling at the weight of the idea. _I mean this is just the limit. This time she is actually, literally going to kill me._  
  
He found the thought cheered him slightly, and at the next call for Gryffindor, he had settled in enough to clap.  
  
\---  
  
Remus never actually managed to finish formulating the extremely private thought, on approach, that it might be nice to be in the same house as that Sirius Black boy, as no sooner had the hat touched his head than it shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"  
  
Sirius smiled at him as he passed, though, with recognition and congratulation and that same curious unpracticed warmth, and as he headed to a seat further down the bench Remus was unable to even pretend his stomach wasn't flopping around inside him, like a bewildered fish.  
  
\---  
  
"Pettigrew, Peter" turned out to be the anxious-looking round boy Sirius had noticed at the station, and the hat hemmed and hawed over him for a few moments before sending him to Gryffindor. Sirius didn't think he seemed particularly brave of heart, but then, he supposed he might not have looked much that way himself when he was up there, either. Potter was soon afterward, and the hat called out his assignment to Gryffindor in a tone that slightly suggested it thought its intelligence was being insulted. He crammed in next to Sirius with a cheerful lack of care that made the redheaded girl from the train glare at both of them again, then pointedly turn away.  
  
"Well done, mate," was all James said, with a cheerful thump on the shoulder, before seeming to consider Sirius's possibly literally life-or-death matter closed. "I hope dinner's next, I'm starved."  
  
Next, though, when the last in line had been sent to Hufflepuff, seemed to be Professor Dumbledore, subject of much of Sirius's mother's disdain -- or at least Sirius judged it was he, based on the general appearance of importance and pleasant disposition -- standing up in front of the Great Hall. He waited with an indulgent smile for the hall to quiet, but Sirius noticed he didn't have to wait long. Not many people here seemed to feel the way his own mother did, or if they did they didn't show it.  
  
"Another year at Hogwarts!" he said when he was ready, with his hands spread out to the Hall. "New faces to be met! New lessons to be learnt! And to begin all these beginnings at the beginning: a new feast to be eaten!"  
  
This sentiment was met with general applause. Once he was directly faced with food, furthermore, Sirius's stomach unclenched enough for him to actually feel hungry; and he decided to take this small miracle while it was here, and not question.  
  
\---  
  
The food came out with cutlery, sending Remus into a moment's lurching alarm: it would be silver, of course it would, on a table set with gold plates and goblets. He wasn't supposed to touch silver, they'd had to pack away the one fine set his mother had from her mother at home, she'd been so depressed -- one more thing he hadn't thought of, and what on earth should he do about it?  
  
When he really looked at his fork in the candlelight, though, its sheen seemed too dull, its color too dark. It was hard to say, especially when he didn't dare lean in to look closer, but... Hoping his hesitation had gone unnoticed -- and probably it had been, as there was a near-riot in the face of the meal -- he bit his lip, hard, wincing his eyes shut a little in anticipation, and then reached and touched it.  
  
Nothing.  
  
He picked it up. Still nothing -- but it was heavy, quite a bit heavier than he'd expected. Pewter, he thought with a small frown, risking holding it in his hand for another brief moment before actually using it as expected. He glanced up and down the table, but everyone else's knives and forks and spoons appeared to be the same; a surreptitious glance at the table beyond, over the shoulder of a tall girl sitting across from him, told him the same was true of all the House tables. Had they always been this way, or had it been changed up? All of it, so that no one would notice a discrepancy?  
  
Unable to help himself, he glanced up at the staff table for just an instant, but in that time could have _sworn_ Professor Dumbledore winked at him.  
  
Remus returned his attention to his food, his heart thudding its way slower again inside his chest after a moment. Well -- it didn't matter anyway, did it? It was taken care of. He was all right.  
  
But he was going to have to be careful. More careful than perhaps he'd even realized.  
  
The meal was much more than he normally ate at a sitting, that was for certain, and at the end of it he was nearly as exhausted as he was full -- although he didn't let anything stop him from nabbing several chocolate eclairs from the dessert selection, if only to keep for a bit later, although that plan fell through rather quickly. He ended up nibbling at one nervously as soon as Dumbledore at last stood up again.  
  
"If I may -- " Things quieted again quickly, and Dumbledore smiled. "A few more items before we enjoy the comfort of our well-earned beds.  
  
"First year students should be aware that students are not permitted in the forest on the school grounds. Older students, of course, will already be aware of this fact, but perhaps ought to consider respecting it as well.  
  
"Our caretaker Mr. Filch has as usual asked me to remind you that magic is not permitted outside of classes or in the corridors. He also wishes for you to be aware that the following items are to be considered prohibited from the school grounds: Lynching Lariats; any of the wide variety of Dr. Discommodious's Dermatological Dusts; and the literary works of the Muggle author Timothy Leary.  
  
"Quidditch trials will be held this coming week. If you wish to play for your house team, please contact Madam Hooch or the appropriate team captain.  
  
"And last of all, but certainly not least of all, all students should be aware that Hogwarts' grounds are now the home of a young Whomping Willow tree, being cultivated under the care and supervision of our own Professor Sprout." He nodded to one of the teachers down the table, a particularly young and slightly plump woman with flyaway hair; she waved, beaming with evident delight. "Marvelous though it may be, I urge you to take care to avoid contact with this specimen, unless it be from an extremely safe distance: adolescence is a time of particular aggression for the Willow, and if provoked it will surely more than respond in kind."  
  
Had he winked at Remus again? Surely not. He turned his attention hastily to his eclair instead, and was pleased to find that the filling was chocolate as well. It didn't take long to finish, which was just as well, as Dumbledore then finished by wishing them all good night in short order.  
  
He fell in behind a very pretty older blonde girl with another one of those Ps on her robe, alongside several other first-years, but he was too tired and too self-conscious to try to make much conversation. The boys he had sat with on the train were chattering a ways up ahead of him, but he didn't want to seem like he was hanging on by trying to catch up. As far as that went, another first-year had apparently latched on to them already; he was trotting along after the two of them and struggling to keep up with both their pace and their conversation, clearly as awestruck as Remus had been trying not to seem to be on the train. Remus experienced a moment's wistfulness, watching this before other students eclipsed him. It must be sort of nice not to mind.  
  
"I hope Gryffindor isn't awful," a girl muttered to one side of Remus, and he glanced over, surprised. She was also very pretty, but a first-year like him, and her hair was long and red and he thought she might have rubber bands on her teeth. That filled him with a surge of warmth toward her; he didn't imagine anyone but ordinary -- Muggle-born people would have rubber bands on their teeth. Wizards probably used magic potions to fix teeth. Maybe special orthodontic crystal pendulums.  
  
"Why would it be awful?" Remus asked, softly, hoping he wasn't intruding. She glanced back at him, and then nodded up ahead -- at, he saw with a small jolt, James and Sirius themselves.  
  
"With boys like _that_ in, it can't be good," she said, sounding sour. "I met them on the train, I'm sorry to say. I _hate_ bullies."  
  
 _Oh, you must be the stuck-up girl,_ came _extremely_ near to bolting out of Remus's mouth, beyond his control, wreaking disaster wherever it went; at the last second he managed to catch it and bite it back, resulting in a combined small noise and facial expression that must have been quite odd based on the look the girl gave him. "Oh," he managed instead at last, and cleared his throat, trying to school his features into a more normal configuration. It took a few seconds of casting about to come up with something sensible to finish with, made worse by his desire neither to offend the girl who had spoken to him nor to speak ill of the boys in question. "...I don't know. I sat with them for a bit, and they seemed all right. But first year and all -- I suppose everyone gets a bit stroppy when they're nervous."  
  
He closed his mouth abruptly, surprised at himself: it was probably the most he'd said at once all day. But then, he'd always found girls easier to talk to than other boys. Many had been the time at home he'd wished he could have had at least one sister. The girl looked startled, then thoughtful, and finally cracked a small smile. "You're probably right," she said. "S'pose I'm a bit stroppy too. I'm Lily, what's your name?"  
  
"Remus," he said, answering her smile. "...What's wrong? If you don't mind."  
  
She shrugged, but her expression tightened a little and she looked down at the stairs they were ascending. "Oh... I've got this -- friend, sort of, from home, and he's here too, but now we've gone and gotten put in different Houses." She glanced up, and offered him a weak little smile -- although a surprisingly tough, almost adult one as well, for all of that. "I just thought if I knew somebody, there'd be at least _something_ normal here, but now -- " She shrugged again. She didn't finish, but she didn't have to; Remus could just imagine, thinking there would be some sort of familiar touchstone nearby, and then having it taken away just as quick.  
  
"Are you -- " He hesitated for only a second before firming his tongue under the unfamiliar term. "Muggle-born?"  
  
"Yes." Lily looked a bit uncertain, which only heartened him more, in a perverse way; at least he wasn't the only one who had his doubts about what that might mean for him.  
  
"I am too," he said, and smiled when she looked at him sharply, and then with increasing pleasure and relief. "Well, sort of. There are some wizards in my mum's family, it's just she isn't one of them. But I never met any of them, I can't imagine I'm much better off."  
  
Lily laughed, and then the line was stopping. He faintly heard the blonde girl up ahead of them say "Pogonotomia!" firmly to the portrait of a large woman on the wall before her.  
  
"Are you insinuating something, dear?" the portrait responded indignantly, but then swung aside to reveal a hole in the wall anyway. Students began to clamber through it, and Lily turned back to Remus.  
  
"Well, it was nice meeting you, Remus," she said, and smiled. "Thanks. I'll try to remember that there's at least one person about I know for certain is nice."  
  
"So will I," he said, and smiled back at her; and then she was heading through the portrait hole, and up toward the staircase with the rest of the girls, toward their dormitory and away.  
  
He followed the boys, falling back in at the end of the line that his companions from the train had ended up leading. The accommodation -- which he gathered was variable from year to year from the conversations of older students passing around them, a fact whose implications rather unnerved him -- was a circular dormitory split into two semicircular rooms by the walls of a long narrow toilet each adjoined, four beds to one side and three to the other. James Potter and Sirius Black chose the side with three, and the smaller round boy who'd attached himself to them followed in short order; Remus tried not to be disappointed as he gathered up his luggage and picked a bed in the other side -- nearest to the door that opened on the stairs, which he thought might come in useful eventually. He wasn't even sure they remembered him, let alone would want him around. And maybe it was honestly best not to be in close proximity to the boy who kept making him feel so alarmingly light-middled.  
  
The other three boys on his side were talking a little, tiredly, about the feast and classes, and the next day, as they unpacked the few things they needed for the night. They didn't try to invite Remus into their conversation, and he didn't try to break into it. He was used to this sort of thing; people didn't notice him very often, and mostly he didn't mind. It kept them from finding anything out they shouldn't, if nothing else.  
  
He put on his pajamas, brushed his teeth, and got into bed, and he was still thinking how oddly nice it was _not_ to have his own room anymore when he fell asleep.  
  
\---  
  
"Think you might try out for Quidditch?" James asked as he yanked his pajama shirt down over his skinny chest. His good humour was only just now turning the slightest bit muted with tiredness. "They hardly ever let first years play, I know, but it'd be a laugh to just go and fly, eh?"  
  
Sirius shrugged, fussing with things in his trunk; for his part, he was so exhausted he could barely see, and actually getting changed seemed like too much effort yet. Spending a whole day alternating between delight and terror was a lot harder work than he might have thought. "I probably won't," he said, shrugging. "Never played much before. I've lived in London my whole life; I've got a broom, but it mostly just gathers dust, unless we go on holiday somewhere." He managed to catch himself there, though -- better not to say too much. Were they already looking at him a little oddly? Hard to tell.  
  
"Do you play Quidditch?" the pudgy boy -- Peter Pettigrew, that one from before -- was asking James excitedly, so Sirius supposed it didn't matter anyway. The boy had been getting in every word edgewise that he could, apparently just fascinated with the both of them, like they were parading heroes or something; it was a bit disconcerting, but also, oddly enough, sort of comfortingly familiar. Although Pettigrew didn't have much in common with Reg in other respects, at least that Sirius could see. James, for his part, seemed to be enjoying it just fine, and puffed a bit with the question.  
  
"Only all the time. It'd be brilliant to get to play with a real team, though." He grinned, pawing through his trunk. "My dad says I'm the best player my age he's ever seen, although I dunno, seeing him have a go..." He shook his head, sadly, and Pettigrew laughed with both hands over his mouth. "It'd be a laugh, though. Maybe I _should_ try!"  
  
He went to the toilet not long after, and Sirius fended off the redirected stream of Peter's questions as best he could, until the other boy finally gave up and hurried off after James. He got somewhere approaching changed and collapsed into bed, lying face-down with his head buried in the blankets for long moments before flipping himself over to stare up at the ceiling, where it was sliced off by the circle of the curtains.  
  
With dark outside the windows, left alone, he found his stomach sinking down and knotting up around some uneasy, unidentifiable feeling, previously buried down underneath all the stronger moods that had had most of his attention today -- some feeling that made him want to stay up talking forever in spite of his tiredness, to encourage everyone else in the room awake to at least give him something to focus on besides nighttime, solitary thoughts. Furthermore, when he tried to chase the feeling down at least enough to make it stop bothering him, he was alarmed to identify it as at least a species of _homesickness_ \-- the one concern he'd never thought to anticipate in all the time he'd been thinking about coming here. But there it was, lodged in his chest like a stone. It wasn't so much that he wanted to be home -- he _didn't_ want to be home -- as it was that even after all of this, even as good as all this seemed to be and as much as he liked at least this Potter boy, he wasn't sure he wanted to be _here_. It wasn't just the madness of the day that had been exhausting. He felt on edge, on eggshells, too much expected from him that he didn't yet entirely understand. Like a spy in enemy territory, unsuspected, speaking a foreign language and wearing a rubber mask. Askew and out of place, his skin prickling as though lightning-struck.  
  
The thought of continuing to feel that way -- and for so _long_ , maybe all the years that stretched out suddenly huge and looming ahead of him -- made him feel more exhausted than ever. Time spread ahead like a desert he had to crawl across. And _could_ this be right, really? Wouldn't it have been easier, easier all along, if he had just been what everyone had expected of him? If only to at least find some comfort in the boredom?  
  
He pulled his pillow over his face, and groaned into it, faintly. No. There was nothing to be done about it now. It had happened, he was here, and now he would deal with it as best he could. One way or another. He'd just... well...  
  
He'd have to be careful.  
  
By the time his new roommates came back, he was already asleep: on a diagonal across his bed, pillow still slung across him and hugged to his chest, a faint frown-line drawn with seeming permanence between his brows.  
  
\---  
  
Sirius came down to breakfast feeling good; maybe not great, but better, again in the light of day. He and James got to talking about their classes, and the thought of Charms that morning cheered him as well. That at least was something he wouldn't have to be as on edge about, at least not like Defense Against the Dark Arts or even Potions. There were unanticipated minefields in his own mind, he sensed, things he might let slip that he knew that he didn't even know other people didn't, things that might change the looks on James and Peter's faces when they looked at him. Not that he thought most people _wouldn't_ understand, or be able to find out easily enough if they didn't, but... well, he didn't want to draw attention to it, was all.  
  
He was cheerful enough by the time they reached the table to pay a bit more attention to his surroundings than he had been the night before, and peer thoughtfully up at the cloudy grey ceiling. Pettigrew joined them before too long, anxious to know if they'd heard anything about the teachers and if they thought they'd do all right in classes, and as James launched into more explanations Sirius's attention wandered, down the table to where he spotted the Muggle-born boy they'd met on the train yesterday -- Remus? -- sitting alone and prodding at some eggs. He frowned, considering -- and then got up before he even quite knew he was thinking about it.  
  
He supposed he'd come up quietly, because the other boy started so violently when he looked up and saw Sirius that he nearly upset everything in his vicinity. Sirius reached under his arm to steady his plate, and Remus ducked down his head nearly far enough that Sirius couldn't see him turning red, although not quite. "Sorry," he was saying, fast, almost under his breath, "um, sorry, h-hello -- "  
  
"Hi," Sirius agreed, smiling, and satisfied that everything was safe, withdrew. "Remus, right?"  
  
"Er. Yes." The boy smiled, feebly. "And -- Sirius."  
  
"Yeah." He jerked a thumb back at where James and Peter were still sitting -- and looking at him curiously, a glance revealed -- further down. "D'you want to come sit with us? I mean, I don't want to bother you or anything, but -- "  
  
"Oh -- " Remus hesitated so oddly for a moment that Sirius thought he probably had bothered him already anyway, and then Remus was looking away again, biting his lip. "Um, thank you, I just -- I don't -- I don't want to barge in, really, it's all right. I was just -- "  
  
"You wouldn't be," Sirius cut him off, when it didn't seem he was likely to stop on his own. "We all hardly know each other, right? I just thought, if you wanted."  
  
"Oh," Remus said again, very softly, looking at his plate. Sirius was starting to feel a bit awkward about the whole thing -- this was more effort than he'd expected to go into something as purportedly simple as inviting someone to come sit with you at a meal -- and a bit cross about all of it, when Remus seemed to reach some sort of decision, firming up his shoulders and grabbing his plate. "All right, I -- I will. Thanks. Thanks very much."  
  
Remus followed him back up to where he'd been sitting, and scooted in beside Peter, looking very out of place but also pleased enough to finally make Sirius feel a lot better and more secure about the decision. "This is Remus," he said, settling himself back in. "He got James and me out of trouble with some stupid Slytherin prefect on the train yesterday."  
  
James waved a grinning hello of acknowledgement, and Peter offered Remus a typically breathless smile. "Hi."  
  
"Hello," Remus said quietly, and glanced around at all of them, with a strange, warm expression in his eyes. Something in that look, as it made its glancing way across Sirius, seemed to infect him with its warmth, elevating his unexpectedly good mood even further; it made him feel _good_ \-- not just like he felt good, but like he _was_ good, like the young hero with the white pointed hat in a silly kid's story. It wasn't a way he could remember ever feeling before, and he thought he liked it. He thought he might actually like it a lot.  
  
"What were you going to be in trouble for?" Peter was asking James then, and James brightened even further, launching at once into an epic and pantomime-heavy recounting of James And Sirius Decide That The Mirror Must Be Hexed. He clearly had a gift for this sort of thing, and finding himself laughing along with Peter and Remus even at what he'd been there for, Sirius forgot entirely, also perhaps for the first time, to think about spies or rubber masks or walking on eggshells at all.  
  
James had just gotten to the bit where the Slytherin prefect had come bursting into the compartment when rustling overhead made them all look up. "Ah," James said, returning his attention briefly to his breakfast now that he was paused. "Post's here."  
  
And then an owl swooped, and the envelope dropped, red and trembling with fury, squarely in the center of Sirius's empty plate.  
  
They all paused, in whatever they'd been doing, and looked at it; and it occurred to Sirius from a great distance, as he sat staring dismally at the Howler making his plate clatter against the table with the force of its vibration, that he didn't really know what he _had_ been expecting, but it probably hadn't been this. Of course, that wasn't to say he could explain why not.  
  
"Best just open it," James advised, at last, and took another bite of toast. "You don't want it to burst."  
  
"What, um... is it?" Remus asked, tentatively. Peter finally took a moment's break from staring in alarm at the Howler to staring in surprise at Remus, and the other boy looked immediately uncomfortable.  
  
"'S a Howler," James said. "People send 'em to people who've hacked 'em off. Yells at you for a while for them, then it's done. Who's it from, d'you reckon?"  
  
Sirius sighed, and grabbed his bread-knife, trying for resolve. "My mum," he said, trying to sound casual and amused, but with so little possibility of doubt in his voice that they all looked at him again, curiously. "Yeah, might as well have it over with."  
  
He used the bread-knife as a letter-opener, making the cut swiftly and gingerishly, like a nervous first-time surgeon. It dropped out of his hand at once, and his mother's hugely amplified voice filled the Great Hall straight up to the sky-colored ceiling, frightening not a few of the owls.  
  
\---  
  
Once he appeared to notice that his Howler had earned him an audience -- and how could it _not_ , really? they were at least certainly aptly named -- Sirius played to it at once: rolling his eyes extravagantly, checking the time, making a mouthy snapping motion with one hand in the air as his mother's voice blared on. He got quite a few laughs from around the Hall, particularly from James, which just seemed to encourage the performance; when at last the envelope wore itself out to a smoking ruin on the table, there were actually some scattered bursts of applause.  
  
Sirius got to his feet, smirking, and took a small bow in kind. "Thank you -- thank you," he called; "she'll be like that all year, I'm sure."  
  
But as he walked out of the Great Hall Remus was equally sure he'd never seen anyone quite so miserable.  
  
He was actually almost distracted enough by the oddity of it to stand up himself, to go after him, but in the end the impulse came to no more than a second's clenching of his muscles that then subsided. You didn't comfort boys like Sirius, even if they did look unhappy, not any more than you tried to give a soothing pat to the glowing coil of a stove. They might not mean to hurt you, but they would all the same. It was intrinsic, unavoidable, part of what made them what they were. Brightness always burnt.  
  
"Look sharp, men," James was saying then, clanking away from the table himself; at last Remus shook off his frown, managing to tear his gaze away from the long since empty doorway. It could have been no more than a few seconds since Sirius had gone, but it felt very much 'at last' nonetheless. "Charms first -- I wonder if they'll show us any Pyrophoric spells?"  
  
\---  
  
Sirius was there ahead of them when they got to class, of course, sitting at a desk near the back of the room and toying moodily with his wand. It was still a few minutes before time to begin, but he looked as though he'd been there for a bit.  
  
Remus got halfway past him, toward the front of the room, and then hesitated, still torn between trying to pretend he hadn't noticed anything and trying to say something. Both options seemed impossibly, unbearably awkward, but then so did the way he had stopped in the middle of the aisle, unable to even make a lame pretense of fidgeting with his bookbag to save himself. If Sirius hadn't looked up then, and tried a smile, he had no idea how long he might have gone on.  
  
"Sorry about that before," he said, taking it entirely out of Remus's hands. "Didn't mean to interrupt."  
  
"It's not your fault," Remus said, shifting his weight, and Sirius looked down. His hair hid his eyes when he did that, and Remus wished it wouldn't. "Er... why was she so angry? If you don't mind. I mean, I -- " He could feel himself reddening slightly, as much as he might wish _that_ wouldn't happen, either. "I could -- _hear_ , but..."  
  
Sirius looked back up at him, and his expression looked a bit more honest now, if too old for him as well; it was an odd, cynically amused look that Remus didn't find comfortable to look at. "I think mostly because I surprised her," he said, after a second's pause. "She thought she'd gotten everything just the way she wanted, and then I turned out to be a real person and not one of the sofas."  
  
Remus was actually startled into a small laugh, and ducked his head. "I know what that's like," he said, before he could think about it; and then Sirius was tilting his head at him and Remus first faltered and then hit reverse, casting about desperately for another comparison to make besides what had happened just a few weeks ago between him and his mum. Bringing that up in this context really _did_ seem a betrayal, a terrible one -- and anyway that story led uncomfortably close to other questions, ones he hadn't needed to be admonished not to answer. "I, er. ...My dad, he's a banker." He found the words in his mouth before he entirely knew they were coming. "He, he alphabetizes his socks by color. You know. Black, brown, grey, navy, white, et cetera." Sirius's mouth had begun to pull so hard at the corners Remus almost couldn't look at it. "I've got four older brothers -- all brothers. They all play football. Most of them all they ever read is football scores, and one of them's a banker already and probably two more are studying to be -- " He caught his breath, checked himself, and ended on a small embarrassed smile. "I _hate_ football. And, well. Look at where _I_ ended up."  
  
"What's wrong with being where you ended up?" Sirius asked. His grin was only barely in check. Remus looked at him, and to his amazement felt his own answer growing.  
  
"What's wrong with being in Gryffindor?" he countered.  
  
"I dunno, you'd have to ask my mum," Sirius said. They stared at each other a second longer -- and then they were _both_ laughing, very suddenly, harder and longer than any of it really warranted.  
  
"Here, sit down," Sirius said, finally, wiping at his face and pushing hair out of it in the process. He kicked out the chair at the desk next to him, just slightly in Remus's direction. Remus took it, still smiling, and for some reason Sirius glanced around before leaning in to him, confidentially. "What's... it like, you know? Being Muggle-born?"  
  
Remus blinked at him, then smiled again, tentatively. "What's it like having your family be wizards?" Sirius waved the question off, though, with an impatient gesture.  
  
"No, no, I mean -- being Muggle-born _here_. At Hogwarts. It must be just totally bizarre, right?"  
  
"I..." Remus thought for a moment, then shrugged. "A little," he admitted. "There's a lot I don't know, but it's not _entirely_ new. My mother isn't a witch, but her mother was, and my aunt on her side." He considered, biting his lip. "I think I've at least learnt never to pet cats I don't know. ...Actually I think I've learnt never to pet _anything_."  
  
This last actually made Sirius laugh, and rather hard; it was a startling sensation, in a way, and oddly pleasant. "That's a good start, honestly. ...I didn't know about your other family, though, that's neat." He frowned, slightly. "So... does that actually make you Muggle-born?" Remus shrugged, and his frown deepened, although his mouth kept pulling at it as though there were buried edges of laughter inside. "See -- that proves it's all ridiculous to even compare, though, doesn't it? It's not that simple, there's all kinds of different ways you can be. So really I don't think it makes much difference at all."  
  
Remus smiled, faintly, not really sure what to say, and looked back down at his hands. "I suppose so. I wouldn't really know."  
  
"Yeah. Guess not." Sirius's frown had in the meantime grown more thoughtful, though; his eyes fixed somewhere distant for a moment before coming back to Remus. "You know -- " His voice was even lower now, a lot more serious. "You ought to be careful. About who you tell about that, I mean, you shouldn't go around telling people like -- " But whatever he'd been about to say, he stopped, cutting himself off before trying again. Remus frowned at him, and he looked away. "Like, you know, a lot of the people in Slytherin. It's just -- there's some people who think wizards with Muggle parents aren't as good as regular wizards."  
  
His eyes flickered to Remus, and then away again. Remus watched him a second longer, his stomach constricting, and then looked down at his hands. "Oh," he said, quietly. "I... I didn't know that."  
  
Sirius shrugged, a little too hearty in its casualness. "Just thought you ought to know," he said. "...I mean, but it's really stupid, though, right? I mean -- because here you are, and _you're_ Muggle-born, or whatever you are, and -- you're just like anyone else."  
  
It was hard to say how the best thing he could have heard could at the same time be the worst.  
  
In any case, Remus didn't really have an answer for that, for all that it seemed oddly like Sirius wanted one. They just sat in a brief but awkward silence -- until he was saved, once again, by Professor Flitwick's entering the classroom, and climbing up the short stepladder to his desk. And after that, he had quite enough to occupy his mind.  
  
\---  
  
What was left of the first week was only a few short days, and they were a whirlwind -- history Remus had never heard of, spells he couldn't do, theory he didn't think he'd ever be able to put into practice. It wasn't all bad; he was all right with history regardless of how much sense it made, that was just taking notes, and Herbology and Potions seemed so far to just require him to be careful and meticulous, and follow instructions, which were also areas in which he felt confident. His first Potions lesson, in fact, was really sort of fun; he ended up partnered with Lily Evans, and not only was she as nice as before, but they worked well together, and she seemed to like him very well. Together they were able to produce a Sleeping Potion so strong Professor Slughorn ended up napping behind his desk for the next ten minutes after checking on it -- which Remus suspected might have been his aim with the lesson all along -- during which time James and Sirius stole another boy's frog cadaver and held very animated puppeted conversations with it, with the rest of the class for an audience. The hardest part of the whole class was probably trying not to laugh, but Lily's expression didn't in the least recommend it, and he managed to forebear. After Professor Slughorn woke up, at any rate, his praise was very high, especially for some clever bits that Lily had done, and all in all it was a very powerful feeling: having created something not just tangibly, but potently magical with their own hands.  
  
Which was not something he was having much luck with in classes that required wandwork, but he didn't seem to be exactly alone in that, which comforted at least a little of his nerves. Privately he couldn't help wondering if part of the problem was that he could never quite believe that waving a wand and saying things that sounded like nonsense would actually accomplish anything. He supposed that was something he'd overcome eventually.  
  
It all kept him so busy, at any rate, that by the time the weekend arrived, it actually took him some time to remember why he was so tired and anxious; but he woke up Sunday morning with the moon hanging large and pregnant at the forefront of his mind. He picked at his meals and avoided company, his stomach knotting into a tighter and tighter ropy ball as the day went on. Every time he looked at anyone directly, it seemed that they _must_ know, that _everyone_ must know. Everyone in the world must be able to hear his heartbeat, see the way it felt like his flesh was crawling slightly on his bones, see how _different_ he was. Passing an older Gryffindor on the dormitory stairs Remus half expected the boy to turn and point, to shout, _Hang on! You don't belong here at all! What_ are _you?_  
  
Most of all, he didn't even know yet what he was going to _do_. No one had told him any more than Professor Dumbledore had, on that first visit. The moon was tonight -- had they forgotten? Surely not, but -- what on earth was he meant to do, if --  
  
He spent most of the day buried in a chair in the corner of the common room, his face in a book but more seeing the words than reading them, hoping no one would look at him.  
  
He went to dinner early, in spite of how hungry he wasn't; mostly he just wanted to be around as few people as possible, and mostly he succeeded. Lily wasn't even there by the time he finished, nor were the three boys he was almost becoming friends with, and in his present state it came as something of a relief.  
  
Just as he'd finished, though, a hand fell on his shoulder.  
  
"Mr. Lupin," Professor McGonagall said, in a considerably softer voice than he'd heard from her on Thursday, when his matchstick had adamantly refused to be anything but. "I'm afraid it's time."  
  
Remus tried not to swallow, staring up at her, but just ducked his head in a nod as he got to his feet. "Yes, Professor."  
  
He followed her out into the hall, up stairs and down corridors, until they reached the gargoyle he remembered from his first visit to the school. It was already standing aside, as though expecting them, and she waved him on ahead, up the stairs and in. The inner door was open as well, and Professor Dumbledore was not alone in his office; Professor Sprout was standing to one side of his desk, apparently mid-chat, as was another witch he imagined must be the matron.  
  
"Ah, Mr. Lupin." Professor Dumbledore was seated behind his desk, and smiling, but from the look in his eyes Remus thought that if anyone in the school actually _could_ see down to the very bottom of how he felt, it was Dumbledore. "Excellent; in plenty of time. It would be best not to hurry these proceedings." He nodded to Professor McGonagall, who shut the door firmly behind her, and then indicated a chair in front of his desk. "Please, sit. We should discuss before you go on your way."  
  
Remus sat. The school seemed very quiet, and distant, somehow even more than it had been when he'd been in this office before it was in session, and a part of him was already beginning to wish everyone in the room would stop looking at him so kindly. It was making him feel ill.  
  
"You'll have met Professor Sprout, of course," Dumbledore went on, and she beamed at Remus when he smiled and nodded, his eyes on the floor.  
  
"Yes, Lupin's been quite the quick study in the greenhouse, Professor Dumbledore," Professor Sprout said. "We shouldn't have any trouble, I expect."  
  
"I am most pleased to hear it." Dumbledore gestured to the other witch then, making Remus look up again. "And this, Mr. Lupin, is Madam Pomfrey. She will see to it that your health is well looked after, before and after your transformations. Both shall accompany you on your way tonight, Professor Sprout to train you in the proper management of the Whomping Willow, and Madam Pomfrey to ensure that you are well-prepared to make use of the facilities." He turned to consult what Remus had originally taken for another delicate silver instrument, this one hanging suspended instead of spinning on a table; now, though, he saw that it was actually some sort of complex diagram constructed entirely from wisps of magic, just hovering in midair. "By my best calculations, moonrise should slightly precede sunset this evening; the time should be lacking sixteen minutes of seven o'clock." He nodded slightly at Madam Pomfrey, who nodded slightly back, and with sinking stomach Remus could read the meaning of the exchange: she had to be away from him well before then, and knew it.  
  
"Please, sir," he managed to find the voice to say in the gap; it sounded husky and dry. "Do... my other teachers know already? Only, if I can't come to class tomorrow -- "  
  
"All of the faculty have been made fully aware of the circumstances," Professor McGonagall said, again from behind his shoulder, and he twisted to look up at her. Her voice and expression were both still oddly gentle, but it made him so nervous he'd almost have preferred she were cross with him. "Every effort will be made to permit you to keep up with your studies."  
  
"Thank you," Remus said to his hands, in barely more than a whisper, and he could feel her stutter slightly -- as though she had moved to pat him on the shoulder, and then caught herself. And, well... the reasons might be different, but there was nothing unfamiliar there. "I -- I guess I'm ready, then."  
  
He risked a glance up, and found Professor Dumbledore looking at him oddly: a frowning, heavy sort of look, difficult to read. It seemed somehow like the sort of expression that would precede sleepless nights and long, solitary pacings.  
  
"Would it be suitable to wish you good luck, Mr. Lupin?" he asked a moment later, in a lower voice, and Remus frowned back at him for a moment before trying to clear his brow.  
  
"I... if you'd like, sir." It came out more a question than an answer, and after another brief pause Dumbledore smiled again, if only a little.  
  
"Then I shall." He stood, spreading a hand out to Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout. "If you would both be so kind -- Disillusionment Charms all round, I should think, if only to discourage curiosity -- "  
  
And after a brief but cold sensation, Remus was following again, both adults holding his arms to keep them from being separated in their low-visibility state; down a flight of stairs that seemed to descend a tower, out a side entrance, onto the cool early-evening grounds. There was a light mist hanging over the grass as it sloped away toward the lake, and the sun hung too low in the sky to burn it away. The Charms didn't really seem to have been necessary, as they met no one; they'd all be in the Great Hall now, eating dinner, laughing, groaning over the weekend that was nearly over. If he looked back over his shoulder, he could just see the edges of the candlelight from the tall, mullioned windows. It looked the way the lights in houses do on a stormy day, from outside, with no home or rest in sight.  
  
"Here we are, then," Professor Sprout's nearly disembodied voice said, sounding reasonably cheerful, to the side of him as they neared the forest. Remus looked up, and at first thought the tree was only waving in the breeze, until he realized there wasn't one. It was extremely ugly, and something indefinable about the way it moved seemed to suggest ill temper. "Well, best to have you learn by doing, Lupin -- find a good long branch, please, one of those on the ground should do very well."  
  
He found one slightly longer than he was tall, which seemed to please Professor Sprout very well, for all that it must have looked to be floating toward her with only a vague blur to support it. Worse yet, with something now noticeably moving about it, the tree, roused, took a swing at it. Although Remus jumped back in plenty of time, his pulse wouldn't seem to slow down again afterward; it just kept throbbing in his throat, like a trapped bird.  
  
"Yes, that's the way -- " Remus's head whipped around toward the sound of Professor Sprout's voice, and he had to take a few deep breaths to calm himself down. "All right, now. Circle round the trunk to the west, if you please, Mr. Lu-- oof! Ha, yes, there you are. Now, take the branch by the very end, reach forward, and prod that knot on the trunk, just a bit up from the raised root. You see the one?"  
  
He did, and nodded before realizing she couldn't see him, but by then it didn't really matter; he had poked the tip of the stick into the knot -- and the tree had frozen in place. Its limbs, flailing a few seconds before, drifted in the air almost sleepily: it looked like a puzzled old man, wavering on his feet while trying to remember something.  
  
"Bred it especially with that spot for these sorts of purposes," Professor Sprout was saying, proudly, as Remus stared up at the somnambulist branches, outlined dark on the evening sky. "It'll take a few seconds to recover its bearings even after you let go the knot, but just to be safe, make sure you keep the branch pressed right on the spot as you approach the Willow. Let's try it, shall we?"  
  
When he got closer, he could see the gap under the root, and the darkness past it; there were scattered dry leaves blown up against its dark mouth, whether from the trees around the Willow or that it had knocked off its own limbs in its directionless fury. Remus's throat tightened briefly, looking at it. Thinking about sliding down there into the dark.  
  
"And that's all there is to it," Professor Sprout said, at last; she might have sounded a bit more subdued now, but Remus honestly couldn't tell. "I suppose I don't need to tell you not to let on to any other students how to hold it still, do I?"  
  
"No," Remus said, only faintly surprised to find his voice hoarse but still there. "Thank you, Professor."  
  
"Good, good. I trust you can take it from here, Poppy?"  
  
"Certainly," Madam Pomfrey's voice said from somewhere over Remus's other shoulder; somehow this time he fought off the urge to whip his head around. "Thank you for your help, Pomona."  
  
"Oh, not at all. Good evening."  
  
Her footsteps left them, and Remus found himself again contemplating the hole: its implications and interior shadows.  
  
"I'll nip down first, and help you in if you need it," Madam Pomfrey said briskly, a moment later. The wind rustled the leaves. "All ready?"  
  
Remus swallowed, and firmed his faltering grip on the branch. "Yes, ma'am."  
  
"Just a moment, then -- " Leaves scattered from around the gap's mouth, and he could hear rustling and movement beneath him. Madam Pomfrey's voice was more distant when it called to him again, faintly echoing. "All right, come down! Mind you look sharp!"  
  
He dropped the branch, scrambled in the leaves, and slid through the hole; it was large enough for an adult without too much trouble, and he scarcely touched the sides. Leaves crunched under his hands, and a few bits tried to slip down the neck of his shirt -- and then he was in, his feet hitting packed dirt, Madam Pomfrey's steadying hand at the small of his back. He could hear the tree, above them, starting to move again as he straightened up; its roots creaked and groaned in the earth.  
  
She removed the Disillusionment Charm from both of them, lit her wand, and led him up the passageway. They didn't speak much, leaving him to contemplate the sounds of water dripping in the walls somewhere, of the wind soughing somewhere overhead. It couldn't have been more than half an hour since he'd left dinner, but already it seemed like a year -- like he was leaving the whole world behind. The padlocked basement, at home, was bad enough, but this, making a production of it like this... how would it ever feel normal?  
  
At last, Madam Pomfrey pushed up a trapdoor -- also locked from this side, come to that -- and helped him out of the passageway into a dimly-lit, silent house. They climbed the stairs, and she showed him into what looked like a bedroom: enormous four-poster bed, armchairs, an inexplicable ancient piano, magical lamps that she bustled around lighting for him. It might have been almost cozy if not for the boarded windows, and the line of locks up the door to the stairs and the one to the closet.  
  
"You can put your clothes and your wand inside there, and lock it up ahead of time," Madam Pomfrey said, nodding to the latter. She put a hand absently on his forehead while she was speaking, touched her fingers to the wrist where he was sure his pulse was still running like an affrighted rabbit. "I'll lock the bedroom door behind me when I leave, and the trap door. You'll be perfectly safe." She glanced swiftly into the pupils of each of his eyes, and then nodded, seeming satisfied. "I can give you a light sedative as well, although I can't make you any promises; there's no certainty of how a potion will affect you in your transformed state. Do you often do yourself harm?  
  
"Not always," Remus said, staring at the floor. It was neither precisely a lie, nor precisely an answer to her question. She eyed him for a moment longer, then dug into her bag, producing a stoppered vial.  
  
"Well, best to be safe -- drink this."  
  
He did, and was pleasantly surprised to find it almost flavourless -- apart from a slight, numbing coolness, like mint. Once he'd drained the vial his heartbeat felt a bit calmer, at least, although it might just have been his imagination. Madam Pomfrey touched his forehead one more time, then offered him what seemed to be a very rare smile.  
  
"I'll be back first thing in the morning," she said. "Try not to worry, you'll be just fine."  
  
"I'm not worried," Remus said, trying to answer her smile. "Thank you."  
  
But she left quickly, and he felt certain that they both knew better than to believe themselves.  
  
When Madam Pomfrey's footsteps had at last disappeared, and the hollow boom of the trapdoor's closing rolled through the house, Remus just stood for a moment in the middle of the bedroom, staring at the floor. His skin, his mind, his life, all felt very strange and foreign, not his own. He could seem to feel nothing, think of nothing, hope for nothing. It was like the whole world would end when the moon came up, and the sun went down. The feeling wasn't new, exactly, but it was made new in its sudden strength.  
  
Finally he was able to make himself move again, and went to the window, peering out through the cracks between the boards that blocked him in and everything else out. It was darkening steadily, and the landscape was largely unfamiliar, apart from the edges of mountains and forest in the distance; off school grounds entirely, he remembered Dumbledore saying. Wholly off the map.  
  
He left the window and took off his clothes; folded his shirt on his denims and clasped his shoes together with socks stuffed in their tops. There was a cupboard inside the closet, and he put the whole set in there, shutting its door and then the door to the closet and then locking it all up. Once that was done, he went and sat down in one of the chairs, which felt terribly uncomfortable to be sitting in starkers, so he got up from it and went to sit on the edge of the bed instead. Then a moment later it occurred to him that he'd probably break the bed if he transformed while he was on top of it, so he got up off of that and sat in the middle of the floor instead, hugging his knees to his chest. ...Come to that, he'd probably break the bed while he was transformed even without starting out on top of it. Why was there furniture put in this room anyway? What bloody difference did it make to someone like him whether it had all the comforts of home? Did they expect him to play the piano with his great hairy paws, for therapy, perhaps?  
  
The laugh he snorted into the tops of his knees sounded a bit funny, and only that made him realize he was crying as well; and that realization was so shocking and itself so miserable that then crying was all he could do for a while.  
  
When he finally got hold of himself, scrubbing shamefaced at his eyes and nose with the back of his hand, the bony knobs at the tops of his knees were wet; and apart from the lamps Madam Pomfrey had lit, the room was growing dim.  
  
\---  
  
In the end, catching up with schoolwork was the hardest part; he missed his first lessons in Astronomy and Defense Against the Dark Arts, and both he had been a bit nervous about anyway, for various reasons. None of the boys he roomed with in the dormitory appeared concerned by his absence, but they all came in at odd times from the common room anyway, and his curtains had been left closed throughout. He supposed they hadn't even noticed anything.  
  
He was less lucky in Transfiguration on Wednesday morning, however. Sirius Black again kicked out a chair from his neighboring desk for Remus as he passed, but he was frowning in a curious way that knotted Remus's stomach. James was seated on the other side of Sirius, arms folded under his head, apparently regaling Peter with exhaustive details on makes and models of broomsticks on the market.  
  
"Where were you?" Sirius asked, as Remus sat down. "I didn't see you around at all."  
  
"I had to go home," Remus said. He kept his eyes on the books he was taking out as he did. This was the story he'd decided on ahead of time; it had seemed best to be prepared. "My mum is ill, sometimes it gets worse. I had to go look after her."  
  
He didn't dare take more than a glance up, but Sirius's frown had only deepened. "But we've only just got here. Didn't you just see her?"  
  
"Well, yes, but..." Remus took a breath. "It was important."  
  
"I'm not saying it wasn't," Sirius said, his brow wrinkling even further, if it were possible. Why had he had to make friends with someone _sharp_? "But -- don't you have a whole horde of brothers, or something?"  
  
"Er -- yes." Was he sweating visibly? He didn't dare wipe his forehead. "But you know, some of them don't live at home anymore, and -- they're really busy -- "  
  
"That will do, Mr. Black, Mr. Lupin," Professor McGonagall interrupted, from the front of the room; she'd finished sorting her lecture notes and Remus was both alarmed and grateful to see her looking sternly over her glasses at them. "We have a great deal of work to do."  
  
He tried to catch her eye, with a small smile, as she took out her wand, but in the end couldn't quite decide whether or not he had seen the corner of her mouth curl up in return.  
  
"Good you're back, anyway," Sirius muttered in a much lower voice, once she'd begun on the four key points of transmuting furniture. "They've been giving us loads of homework. You can copy mine if you like."  
  
"Thanks," Remus whispered back, and then tried his best to listen... but it was hard, distracted as he was by the sudden spreading glow inside his chest. The revelation was as stunning as it was obvious: that even if he had good reason for being alarmed at questions about his whereabouts, it still also meant that someone did _care_ , at least a little, that he'd been gone.  
  
And that inconveniently sharp or not, he had in fact made friends with someone.  
  
\---  
  
 _Dear Mum,  
  
I hope things are fine at home. Everything went OK on Sunday, so please don't worry. I only missed two days of school and I feel much better now. Everyone was very nice and yes, I said thank you.  
  
I am in Gryffindor House, which is the one where everyone is meant to be brave. I am not sure why that includes me but oh well. The other people here sort of remind me of Pompy, as they like to shout and cause trouble but don't make fun if you'd rather sit and read a book, or if they do they don't mean it.  
  
I have four new friends since I came here. One of them is a girl named Lily Evans, and the other three are boys named Peter Pettigrew, James Potter, and Sirius Black. Lily has ~~M~~ normal parents, and she is very sensible and nice. I think you would like her very much. Peter is quiet, but he is very curious and seems impressed by a lot of things. James likes to shout extremely loudly and cause more trouble than anybody, but everyone seems to think that is his best feature. He is very good at it. Sirius is amazing. His whole family are wizards since a very long time ago, and he knows all sorts of things. He is very kind, as he was the first one who asked me to sit with them at breakfast, and he helps me if I get confused in classes. He also told some other boys off when they were being rude to me. He is very handsome and all of the girls seem very impressed by him, except for Lily, who I think does not like my other friends very much.  
  
At any rate, I am doing fine, and I hope you are the same. Please tell Dad I am fine and I said hello, and tell Ancus and Servius that I miss them.  
  
Love,  
Remus_  
  
\---  
  
 _DEAR MUM AND DAD  
  
HULLO FROM HOGWARTS!!!  
  
IT IS AS BRILLIANT AS I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE AND I BET YOU DON'T EVEN MISS ME. I PUT IN A LEAF FOR EACH OF YOU FROM THE MAD TREE THAT THEY JUST PLANTED. IT TRIES TO BEAT PEOPLE UP IF THEY COME TOO NEAR AND ONCE IT TRIED TO MAUL A HEDGEHOG BUT IT WAS TOO QUICK. I THINK IT IS THE MOST BRILLIANT TREE EVER. CAN I HAVE ONE AT HOME.  
  
I TRIED OUT FOR QUIDDITCH JUST FOR A LAUGH BUT THEY NEVER LET PEOPLE AS YOUNG AS ME PLAY BUT THAT'S ALL RIGHT. YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN THE BLOKE THEY'VE GOT PLAYING SEEKER THOUGH DAD. HE IS PANTS. SORRY MUM.  
  
IF THEY WRITE YOU A LETTER ABOUT ANYTHING TO DO WITH A TOILET I DON'T KNOW WHAT THEY'RE TALKING ABOUT.  
  
DINNER NOW HURRAY!!!!!!!!!!  
JAMES_  
  
\---  
  
 _Dear Mum  
  
Thank You, for the toffees, they were very good. Also I got the socks I forgot that you sent. Thank You.  
  
I have made new freinds! ! There names are James and Sireus. They are loads of fun + very clever. They both have brooms at home and James plays quiddich! He is good but they would not let him play on the quiddich team but I think hes better than the ones that do play. They are Nice.  
  
I hope youre hip feels better and you are good. OK thats all for now  
  
Love Peter._  
  
\---  
  
 _Dear Reg,  
  
I reckon you heard what happened already. Was mum really hacked off? She sent me a Howler at school. It was a laugh, I wish she'd send another. JUST KIDDING, don't tell her that. NO I SAID DON'T. But you should have seen Cissy and Looooshus. (I don't actually even know how to spell that.) I thought they'd be sick all over each other, which would be good as they always make me want to be sick when they're all over each other otherwise.  
  
Hogwarts is pretty good, anyway. There's all kinds of people here and stuff is always going on. I bet you'd even like it, as there is a great big lake for slimy little toads to live in (ha, ha, ha). It's totally different without mum yelling all the time, you can just do things like everybody else. I want to stay here forever.  
  
I made loads of friends, too. One of them has even got Muggles for parents. DON'T tell mum that, or if you do, take a picture of her face (ha, ha).  
  
Say hello to the elf heads for me. I sent this with a school owl instead of Alistair so mum wouldn't know it was me, so DON'T SHOW THIS TO HER or I will kill you and then dig you up and kill you again. Just let me know if she starts sharpening the axe a lot so I can plan my escape.  
  
Sirius_  
  
\---  
  
Sirius never slept all that well, and since coming to school it wasn't any better. It wasn't so much that his roommates in particular snored, he was coming to decide; it was that everyone in the _world_ snored, everyone, all the time, and he alone was blameless. So far he'd avoided being caught sneaking out of the dormitory, down the stairs and into the common room -- he usually waited, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling through the circle of his bedcurtains, until late enough that even the prefects had gone to bed -- but it came as a nasty shock tonight to find that he'd pushed his luck too far: the room wasn't completely dark in one corner, and there was someone there.  
  
His foot had already backpedaled to the bottom stair, ready to make a silent retreat if he hadn't been noticed, when he frowned, looking closer. The figure on the sofa by the fire, although half-turned away and across the room, looked too small to be trouble -- another first year, most likely. In fact, it looked like --  
  
"Remus?"  
  
It wasn't much more than a whisper, and from only a step away from the stairs, but loud in the quiet room. Remus jumped as though he'd had something thrown at him, and whirled round in his seat, staring at Sirius for a second before relaxing. In the dim light from the fire his eyes were underlined in bruise-coloured circles. He looked ill, and his smile like exercise, but Sirius still took it as an invitation to come over and lean on a chair.  
  
"Hello," Remus said, and rubbed one of his eyes. When the sleeve of his robes fell back, it showed a healing, broken cut, thick with scabs, zagging up the inside of his forearm and twisting up his wrist. To Sirius it looked a little like something had bitten him. "What are you doing up?"  
  
Sirius shrugged. "Couldn't sleep. I hardly ever can." He hesitated, then pointed at the cut on Remus's arm. "...Doesn't that hurt?"  
  
Remus glanced down, jumped again, and pulled his sleeve hastily down over it, which seemed a bit of a bizarre response to Sirius, but who was he to judge? He couldn't brush his teeth without humming "God Save The Queen." "Not -- really," he said, sounding a little out of breath. "I, I just fell the other day and scraped it, that's all."  
  
"Hmm." It didn't look much like a scrape, but why would he be lying about something like that? Cuts were weird, anyway, you never could tell. "You should see Madam Pomfrey, she's good with stuff like that. I skinned my knee the other day when she was coming back from giving antidotes to the seventh-year Potions class, and she fixed it up so I never even noticed." He craned his head over so it lay on one shoulder, trying to read the parchment Remus was writing on sideways. "Are you still working on that? I thought it was due Tuesday."  
  
"It was," Remus said, and rubbed his eye again. It appeared to be twitching. "I got... a bit longer to work on it."  
  
"Oh, that's right -- you were out again." Remus nodded, and Sirius took a moment to flop on the couch next to him, disturbing the pile of books there slightly. "Is it really bad? Your mum, I mean."  
  
Remus glanced up at him, and for a second his brows were knitted and eyes oddly blank -- and then his expression cleared. "Oh -- no, I mean... well, it's not _dangerous_ , really, it's just..." He bit his lip. "Something that comes up from time to time. And she needs a lot of help. That's all." He stared back down at the parchment, spinning his quill absently in his fingers. "But they've, you know, they've been very nice about it. Letting me make up what I've missed."  
  
"Oh. That's good, I guess." He thought for a moment, and then frowned. "Wait -- have you been up doing homework all this time?"  
  
"I'm sort of behind," Remus said, softly. The firelight caught on his hair and face, giving them a slight bronze edging. He seemed so much older than the rest of them sometimes, Sirius thought: like he knew stuff that other people had never even thought of. It was an odd thought, but then, it was an odd moment.  
  
"That's rough." Sirius glanced at the parchment on Remus's knees, then tapped his fingertip on it; Remus turned again to look at him, his eyes a little wide. "If you need any help, I could. I'm good in Transfiguration, I've known most of that stuff for ages. I used to steal my dad's old wand and turn my brother's socks into mice, it drives him mad. He's such a girl, I swear."  
  
Remus was startled into laughing, and then startled by his laughter into laughing harder, and that made Sirius laugh with him. "Maybe," he said when he'd managed to stop, and then cleared his throat against the last of his grin. "Er. Thanks, I mean."  
  
"Sure." He leaned back on the couch, folding his arms behind his head. "Aren't you tired, though? It's after one."  
  
"A little." Remus shrugged, reading down the essay again with the tip of his quill ticking off each line. "I guess I don't sleep much sometimes either." He glanced up at Sirius and smiled, more honestly now, Sirius thought. "I was thinking of maybe going to get something to eat, though. Have you ever been down to the kitchens? There's this still-life, I know it sounds silly, but you have to tickle the pear... what?"  
  
"How do you know that?" Sirius said, when he could stop gaping for a second. He had to admit he was at least as much jealous as he was impressed -- how did someone as fussy and unassuming as Remus Lupin get one up on breaking rules from the already delightfully notorious Sirius Black and James Potter? Remus actually flushed a little, for no reason Sirius could determine, and looked down at his hands.  
  
"Oh, well -- I, I have to miss dinner sometimes. You know. With my mother." He shrugged. "I go sometimes just when it's late, though, and the house-elves are always really nice. I think they like it for some reason."  
  
"Really? Our elf at home can't stand anyone. Well, except my mum, I guess, but I think that's just because she's the only thing meaner than he is." Sirius considered, and then bounced to his feet. "Sure, let's go! And this way if we run into Filch I can hold him off for you while you get away. Pretend to be sleepwalking." He illustrated by sticking his arms out ramrod-straight in front of him and his tongue out one side of his mouth, glazing his eyes over, and wandering around the corner of the room bumping into tables. It was pretty stupid, but it got Remus laughing again anyway, his hand pressed over his mouth to keep from making too much noise. Remus wasn't like James, but making him laugh, even with the kind of stuff that would make Reg laugh and then pretend not to, was sort of great anyway; it put this pleasant, warm feeling down into Sirius's chest that he found himself in no hurry to examine. It was like doing him a favour, anyway, right? He had a pretty hard time, what with his mum being sick all the time and all. He could stand to have a laugh a little more often.  
  
And in the midst of going for food, evading Filch, and enjoying the empty, forbidden castle in the middle of the night, he completely forgot, at least until much, much later, about that look on Remus's face when he'd first asked about his mother -- as though Remus had already forgotten she'd been ill at all.  
  
\---  
  
If Remus had been lacking any of James's respect, he won it at once when Sirius told James who had shared the secret of the kitchens, and although he'd already been spending quite a bit of time with the three of them that secret seemed to clinch things. Well, the two of them and Peter, to describe matters more honestly: as far as Remus could tell you couldn't really be around James Potter without being around Peter Pettigrew. He was like a shadow cast so close to noon it just came out a bit shorter and wider. Remus kept expecting, a bit worriedly, James to become annoyed with it, as his older brothers always had if he put himself too much in whatever they were doing, but on the contrary having Peter for a ready audience always seemed to put James in a good mood. Sirius much less so, however, he had begun to notice: generally the more Peter tried to get his attention, the more moody and sarcastic Sirius became, until Peter had finally learnt to give him a decently wide berth unless Sirius and James were together or Sirius in a particularly good humour.  
  
Remus tried not to be too pleased that Sirius was never sarcastic with _him_.  
  
Being of such interest to them was wonderful most of the time, terrifying all of the time, and occasionally frustrating when he was trying to study, although he tried not to let any of this on. Especially not the ridiculous way that looking too closely at Sirius's dark, crinkly eyes or slightly lopsided smile sometimes made his throat feel like there were dusty dry blackboards lined all down it, and his hands like they would shake if he moved them.  
  
"I don't know why you hang round with them," Lily said to him over a cauldron of foul-smelling Distraction Reduction one morning in Potions, her brows knitting and Remus didn't think entirely from the odour. "They're horrible. I just keep hoping Potter will do something really over the line and get himself expelled."  
  
"I don't think they're that bad," Remus said, although he had to admit his defense came out a bit lame-sounding, as James and Sirius were currently engaged in a game of waiting for Professor Slughorn to turn his back, and then trying to see which of them could pitch a rat spleen into the lap of that Slytherin boy they kept calling "Snivellus." A muscle was beginning to work, very slowly and deliberately, in the boy in question's jaw, but so far he hadn't tried to say anything. Privately, though, Remus couldn't get too worked up about this particular abuse; Snape had spent the last few Potions lessons glaring at him for no reason Remus could discern, whenever he was working with Lily, and at least this had stopped him doing it. It made you a bit jumpy after a while. "I mean... they're very clever, and... I imagine they get bored easily."  
  
"When I'm bored, I read a book," Lily said, icily. "I think it'll be arson, when it happens. That Potter boy is _obsessed_ with fire, have you noticed?"  
  
"I don't know if I'd say obsessed, exa-- "  
  
" _Obsessed_ ," she repeated. Her tone was so grim Remus didn't bother trying to argue again. "He ought to be locked up, not going to school. And _Black_ \-- "  
  
"I think Sirius is really nice," Remus said quietly, to the small blue flame at the bottom of the cauldron he was trying to adjust. It took several moments of silence before he nerved himself up to look up at Lily, but she was just looking back at him, with a calm but unreadable sort of expression. Finally she just shook her head, so her long ginger ponytail swung.  
  
" _You're_ the one who's really nice," she said, and then went a little pink, again for no real reason Remus could figure out. But that was girls for you. "You should make some better friends, that's all. They'll just get you into trouble you don't deserve."  
  
"I think you're too hard on them," Remus said, straightening up.  
  
The soft, wet slap of a rat spleen hitting Severus Snape directly in the hollow of one cheek turned out to be curiously unmistakable.  
  
His mother wrote back, finally, most of it just about how pleased she was he was well and getting on all right with his problems at school, although she did take a curious aside to ask a few questions about his new friend Sirius Black (" _He sounds very charming. You said his family was called Black? Is he in Gryffindor with you?_ "). He supposed it was just she'd never had much chance to fuss about the friends he'd made before, as before he hadn't really made any. None of his brothers wrote, although Pompy sent him a note at Halloween. He propped it up on the table beside his bed, next to the little man James had twisted up from wires and enchanted to make loud flatulent noises at intervals (he had to throw a washcloth over it at night, but never mind) and the pile of crumpled, animated notes Sirius had passed him in History of Magic, trying to see if he could make him laugh hard enough to disrupt class, and lay with the curtains open and a full view of the pleasantly slim sliver of the waning moon, looking at them all, a tiny smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.  
  
All of which was at least a pretty good distraction from how he was going to fail all his classes.  
  
\---  
  
"Do you have -- do you have... wait. Do you have a _telerision_ , at your house?"  
  
Remus sighed, and scrubbed his fingertips across the bridge of his nose. "Television. Yes."  
  
This broke both Sirius and James up again, for whatever reason, James pitching over on his back on his bed. Remus squinched his eyes, as if it would somehow make it possible to concentrate suddenly. "All right, all right..." Sirius began again, when he'd recovered himself. He was sitting cross-legged on his own bed, Remus on the floor by its side with his History of Magic book propped on his knees. "Have you got... a _car_?"  
  
"...My dad has, yes."  
  
Remus supposed some mysteries of the universe were best left unfathomed, and one of them was what had decided Sirius that his new favorite activity, when James was around, was asking after various Muggle items that might exist at Remus's home, and then laughing like loons at the very idea every time he said yes. He was doing his best not to be irritated, as that didn't really seem a sporting way to respond, especially when he was a homework-doing guest on their side of the dormitory, but it did get a bit old after a while. For him, at least.  
  
"Okay, no, I've got another," Sirius said, hiccuping his way back to communication. "Do you -- "  
  
At long last, the dam broke; before his inner censor could stop him, Remus sat down his book and looked up at Sirius, affecting the most wide-eyed expression of fascination he could summon up. "Do _you_ have a _flying carpet_ at your house?"  
  
Sirius looked quite taken aback for a moment, then frowned. "Well -- _yeah_. My mum took us on holiday through Kashmir one time, and we -- " He broke off and considered for a moment. "...Oh, I think I see your point."  
  
Remus made a small, sage noise, but said nothing. Wisely, he felt.  
  
"We're not taking the mickey, though, it's brilliant," James said, and when they both glanced at him, shrugged. He'd at least taken the trouble to right himself on his bed by now, sprawling with one sock-clad foot dangling overside. "I mean, because you get to see both sides, right? Most wizards if they have to deal with Muggle things, they're lost in the train station trying to ask the porters, excuse me, which way to the expectorators, and where could I locate a tibletame, and why are you looking at me like that, have I said something odd?" He paused long enough for Sirius and, in fact, Remus this time to get hold of themselves before going on, with the patient indulgence of one who was expecting to make a career of having roomfuls of boys rolling. "But you can go back and forth and be all right. That's got to be dead useful."  
  
"I suppose," Remus said, turning still smiling back toward his textbook. "I don't feel like I'm doing all that well managing wizarding things, though. I can barely sort out my homework."  
  
"Well, what would you want to do that for?" James asked, and Sirius snorted assenting laughter. Remus sighed.  
  
"Easy for you to say."  
  
"Yeah," James said, so cheerfully that it made Remus entertain a very brief and guilty fantasy of closing his book and chucking it at James's head. Sirius flopped down on his belly on the bed beside Remus's shoulder, so he could peer down at his work.  
  
"D'you want some help?" he asked. Remus shook his head.  
  
"No, I'm all right on History of Magic, I think. Thanks." He scrubbed at his brow again. "I just... I keep falling behind."  
  
"Well, it's not your fault your mum being sick," Sirius said, a slight frown now forming between his eyes. Remus shook his head again.  
  
"It's not that, it's just..." He sighed, and let his book fall open on his chest as he leaned back on the side of the bed. What he _didn't_ say it was just, what was in his mind and he might even have said if it had been just him and Sirius alone, was that he took forever to learn to do anything that actually had to do with _magic_ ; that he was beginning to doubt, in fact, that he was substantially magical at all, that his invitation had been a mistake or worse, a show of pity for someone burdened with his particularly magical freakishness. Even what Dumbledore had said to him, at the end of their interview -- although of course he couldn't have discussed that with either of these two -- had seemed to pale with time, to darken in at the edges with suspicion and possible falsity. But he didn't say any of that. He liked James, and he supposed it wasn't that he distrusted him, and he supposed there wasn't any especial _reason_ to feel like Sirius might understand him better, but... if it had been just him and Sirius, even still, he might have said it. But not the two of them together. Even if he didn't know better than that, every instinct he had did.  
  
"It's just a lot," he muttered to his book instead, and folded in over his crossed arms. And thought he might be able to feel Sirius frowning at him again -- curiously, perhaps -- but just ducked his head down further, and opted not to notice.  
  
"Well, I wouldn't worry about it," Sirius said at last, over Remus's shoulder, although he sounded less than convincing. "Exams are a long way off. You'll be used to it by then."  
  
James snorted laughter. "And it's not like you're Peter, he _is_ from a wizard family and he can't sort out one end of his wand from the other." Remus tried to smile, but was afraid he didn't make much of a go of it, in spite of Sirius's laughter.  
  
"Yeah, remember that time we were doing beetles into buttons, and he just made his four times bigger?" Apparently James did, as he collapsed on the bed again, seeming to Remus more to savor the idea of laughing at someone than actually to think it was funny. Sirius shook his head, grinning. "Screamed like a girl, too. I wonder how he ever made it into Gryffindor."  
  
"Aw, Pete's not so bad," James said with a wave of his hand, now that he had collected himself again. "Got Snivellus in the back of the head with a grapefruit at lunch one day, then blamed it on the bloke next to him when he turned round. It was hysterical."  
  
"There's legendary bravery for you," Sirius said, rolling his eyes, but he was grinning too. Remus's brows clenched in on each other again, but he didn't say anything. It was their business, he supposed. Still, whenever he was talking to Lily he was sure she'd got it all wrong; but every time he was apart from her, and found himself flinching away from a certain curve in Sirius's smile, he couldn't help but wonder.  
  
James shrugged. "Well, it takes all kinds. Look at Remus here, you'd think he ought to have been in Ravenclaw, wouldn't you?"  
  
"I don't really know why I'm not," Remus said, softly, aiming a wan smile halfway between James and his book. "I don't... really think I've much in common with everyone else in Gryffindor." James took a great breath, no doubt for a great disparaging snort, and Remus turned his eyes back down before he could. "I guess it doesn't matter, but I wonder what it is makes the difference."  
  
"Yeah, so do I," Sirius said, with a heartiness that sounded almost forced; and for a second when Remus glanced up he thought there was something odd and rigid in his eyes, as though this entire line of conversation were making Sirius uncomfortable. Next second, though, it was gone, leaving Remus to try to decide he'd imagined it all along. Seeing his own troubles in everyone else, he supposed. "Guess the only way to find out's to ask the Sorting Hat, though, eh? If you can find where they put it when it's not Sorting people, that is."  
  
"Dumbledore's office," James said, offhandedly. They both looked at him again, and he grinned. "Heard from a couple of seventh-years about how they tried to steal it for a prank a few years back. And _tried_ 's the word, mind you. Apparently it bites."  
  
Remus suppressed a shudder. Well, at least no one had told him that _before_ the Sorting.  
  
Sirius, however, he noticed with a frown when he finally looked up again, looked electrified -- sitting bolt upright, slightly agape, as though a bolt of lightning had struck directly into the top of his head. When they had both turned to look at him, and noticed, finally he erupted. "James!" he said, in a taut, inspired hiss. " _We should break into Dumbledore's office!_ "  
  
"What?" Remus said, and then, "No!" Although he would look back on it, in later times, there was no ominous, atavistic shudder, no _deja vu_ in reverse, in that moment to tell him that these were the two words he would come to say most often among all others to ideas had by Sirius Black or James Potter in the coming seven years, but it seemed like there should have been.  
  
"Yes!" James nearly shouted, though, already leaping to his feet. They stared at each other a moment longer, and then James cackled. "You're a _genius_!   
  
"How does that make him a genius?" Remus asked. The time had come, he felt, to abandon placation in favor of a plea for reason.  
  
"It'll be _brilliant_." Sirius had already started pacing, hopping a little at one point to show his sincerity. "We can ask the Sorting Hat what it's on about, about you and Peter, I mean, and get a look around Dumbledore's office, and it will be fantastic because it'll prove that James and I are amazing."  
  
"And get you expelled?" Remus asked, without much hope. James waved him off with an expression much as though he'd said instead, _But what if you're attacked by bears in the hallway?_  
  
"Only if we get caught."  
  
"And only if _we_ get caught," Sirius said, with a grin that bore an alarming need for the adjective 'evil.' "What do you mean, _you_?"  
  
\---  
  
No amount of reasoning, bargaining, or pleading seemed likely to convince James and Sirius not to go through with their plan for the headmaster's office, particularly not when _Peter_ , when informed of the plan, was practically transported with delight ("Maybe he keeps _exams_ in there!") and agreed at once. Furthermore, there was only so much reasoning, bargaining, and pleading Remus felt like he could reasonably do without making himself undesirable, and he could feel himself losing the struggle at an alarming speed as the Christmas holidays approached. His only fading hope was that there was no way James and Sirius's burgeoning plan would be able to be put into action before the holiday, so maybe they would forget about it while they were home with their families.  
  
As hopes went, though, it was rather dim. "First thing when we get back," Sirius declared, in the grand lofty tones of emperors and conquerors. "James and I'll work it out by owl when we're at home, we should have a plan all set by January. It'll be fantastic, you wait."  
  
"I hope you have a nice time," Remus said, watching the words form in white puffs of breath. It was just the two of them again, walking up from an afternoon Herbology lesson; James had taken off to go watch Gryffindor's Quidditch team practice, on account of being clearly insane, and Peter had gone trotting to keep up with him. Remus and Sirius took the path back to the castle at a leisurely pace, muddled up in cloaks and scarves and leaving trails of white breaths like steam engines.  
  
Sirius snorted, and elbowed him. "Come off it. You know it'll be fantastic." They were cresting the hill now, coming to the edge of one of the courtyards, and Sirius was silent for a long moment, just fording his way along the slippery dying grass, pulling out ahead of Remus single-file where the path narrowed. There hadn't been a real snow yet, but there was a light, frosty powder on the ground that said one wouldn't be far off. Remus thought of the drafty Shack in the coming January, and a small, hard ache settled down into his chest.  
  
"Are you excited about going home?" Sirius asked a moment later, and Remus frowned at him, not that he could see.  
  
"I... suppose." It was an odd question to ask, but for all of that, an oddly apt one; he _wasn't_ , especially, and wondered how Sirius had known it, if in fact he had. The moon would be on New Year's Eve, which would spoil it for his parents as well as for himself, and Pompy and Meredith were going abroad to Spain and wouldn't be home at all. "Are you?"  
  
Sirius shrugged; he could see the lift and fall of his shoulders inside Sirius's cloak ahead of him. They had come to the courtyard now, and though Sirius didn't often much feel the cold he seemed even less keen than Remus might have thought to get inside. They were never really alone together very much during the day, he realized suddenly, looking at the shag of Sirius's dark hair splintering over the top of his striped scarf; it was all of them during the day, always, whenever Remus was around the other three, and Remus and Sirius only over late nights when Remus stayed up with his homework and Sirius with whatever it was that kept him out of bed and wandering to the common room like a small disgruntled ghost. Still, what was odd about being alone with Sirius was what _wasn't_ odd about it. It felt like...  
  
"No, I'm not," Sirius said then, abruptly, cutting off whatever Remus had found himself thinking. "I wish I weren't going, it's going to be awful."  
  
Remus frowned, and came up alongside him; Sirius had stopped entirely now, standing between two columns and peering out at the grounds, their colors deadened by frost. "Why?"  
  
"Can I tell you something?" Sirius asked without looking round at him, and Remus couldn't make out from tone or context whether "something" would be an answer to his question or not. He nodded anyway. Sirius took a breath, and it came out in a white plume. "I told James my family had all been in Slytherin, but I don't think he really... knows what that means." He shrugged again, this time lifting his arms and letting them flap back on his sides, and Remus thought of telling him _he_ didn't know, either, then decided against it as probably imprudent. "I don't think _I_ really knew what it meant. All of the wankers that keep giving you such a rough time -- I'm probably related to half of them." He snorted. "No, I know I am. Rosier's my cousin, Bulstrode is too one way or another, my other cousin Narcissa's seeing that one horrible prefect with all the hair, who I'm almost sure is _her_ cousin..." He trailed off, then barely glanced at Remus's expression, whatever it must have looked like, long enough to offer a thin smile. "We're all pretty inbred. That's the thing about everybody wanting to keep magic in our families when there aren't that many families to keep it in. I'm probably lucky not to have six arms or something."  
  
He subsided briefly, breathing heat into his cupped hands, thinking. Remus tried to think of something to say, and couldn't.  
  
"So everyone I knew 'til now has always been like that," Sirius said. "Dark magic and calling people names. I dunno why James hates them all so much, and he's always going on about Slytherin being the House for gits and everything, but he doesn't even know what it's like to have to sit at the kids' table with them whenever mum throws the world's most boring dinner party." He let out another long, thin, white breath, and folded his arms back inside his cloak. "I wish I could just stay here."  
  
"Can't you?" Remus asked, softly. Sirius glanced at him again, with his brow slightly furrowed, and Remus half-expected him to snap or be angry; but instead his face cleared, and he laughed, ducking his eyes down.  
  
"As if my mum's not about to murder me already," he said, and Remus smiled his embarrassment down at the frost-laced flagstones. "It'll be okay. My little brother's kind of a toad but he's not so bad, if I get sick of it we'll go run off and hole up in the pantry and try to make up what all everyone smells like." Remus suppressed a laugh, and Sirius tried on a grin. "Just, you know..." He scratched at his hair, looking just as embarrassed as Remus had been for a moment. "I dunno. It's like I can just tell you stuff."  
  
"Me too," Remus said, nearly in a whisper, instantly, before he could even think of perhaps not. "...I mean, I can tell you."  
  
But he couldn't.  
  
Sirius looked at him, his face odd and hesitating and blank, and then the edges of his mouth cracked in the slightest, most genuine smile Remus thought he'd ever seen from him. "Yeah," Sirius said -- and then paused, and then grabbed Remus's shoulder in his hand, as easy and thoughtless a touch as anyone would do to anyone else. "Look, you've _got_ to come with us when we do Dumbledore's office, Remus. It's really all for your sake anyway, what good's it if you don't come?"  
  
It _wasn't_. Remus knew that perfectly well. If it wasn't an outright lie it was Sirius fooling himself; none of it was for Remus or for Peter, it was for Sirius and James to test out their no-doubt amazing abilities to get in anywhere and do any sort of mischief in Hogwarts's castle that they pleased, and show off about it afterwards. Remus had provided nothing more than inspiration at best, maybe an excuse, but his going or not really made no difference at all. But staring back into Sirius's eyes, suddenly _close_ to his, dark and solemn and a little pleading, his own mouth no doubt a stupid gaping pit and his spit all suddenly gone off somewhere, it was just so easy _not_ to know. To believe he didn't, and only hear everything he wanted to.  
  
 _Lily doesn't know about this part,_ he thought incoherently, _if she did she'd probably kill him at least herself,_ and then from a long way away he heard his mouth saying "All _right_. All right."  
  
Sirius's face transformed. Remus fought to stop himself from saying _all right_ a third time, swallowing it back into his throat and away. It was only a second before he was able to speak again, but it felt long.  
  
"But if we get in trouble, it was all your idea _and_ you forced me," he managed to add finally, and then Sirius was pushing away from him, out of that troubling closeness, spinning with his arms thrust up over his head in the winter-dim courtyard and laughing out his first of many such victories.  
  
\---  
  
The Adventure Of Dumbledore's Office (Possibly The First Of Many) commenced on January fourth, right at the start of suppertime. Peter had looked so forlorn about that part that they'd eaten at least double earlier in the afternoon, just to be safe. Matters were complicated by a dislocated elbow on Remus's part from over the holidays, which was hanging in a sling and about which he seemed peculiarly reticent, but fortunately the plan was flexible.  
  
Accomplices had been engaged, so that none of them would have to miss out on going into the office proper: in this case, two of the other Gryffindors in their year, excluding only Brendan Abercrombie on the basis that he was accustomed to being considered relatively very handsome and popular, and as a result didn't care for Sirius or James very much. The fact that Sirius had managed to turn his hair green for a whole week in November -- largely by happy accident -- also might not have helped matters, Sirius thought. The other two James had managed to rope and wheedle into trying to engage Dumbledore in conversation after dinner and keeping a lookout with a handful of Dungbombs in the corridor, respectively.  
  
"So what do _we_ do?" Peter asked as they were eating their early, ill-gotten supper in the dormitory; he was seated on his bed and practically vibrating from excitement. Sirius poked him, to see if he would carry a current, and Peter looked alarmed and made an apparent effort to stop.  
  
James, for his part, was grinning like a maniac, which was admittedly how James generally preferred to grin, and digging through the bottom of his trunk. "Just you wait," his voice drifted up from his submerged head, "just you -- ah!"   
  
He emerged, trailing a long, silvery billow of fabric from both hands. Remus and Peter frowned at it, and so did Sirius for a moment, before recognition sunk in and he began to gape. "...No."  
  
"Yes," James said, and stood up, whipping the cloak around him -- and vanished.  
  
Peter yelped and then clapped his hands over his mouth, and Remus's eyes went amusingly wide. Sirius leapt to his feet, whooping, and flung himself at the vague area of where James's head had vanished, succeeding more by luck than by skill. "I can't -- _bloody_ \-- believe it!" This last puncutated by companionably pummeling as much invisible James as he could reach, until James's head reappeared, laughing, followed by the rest of him, to fend Sirius off. "You never told me you had an Invisibility Cloak, you berk!"  
  
"Didn't before," James managed, still laughing. "My dad gave it to me for Christmas. Said his dad gave it to _him_ his first year at school, and probably his dad before that, and not to tell my mum but he'd be really disappointed if I didn't get into a heap of trouble with it."  
  
"Your dad's brilliant," Sirius said, and so much envy came out in it without his meaning it to that he found himself wishing he hadn't said anything. James didn't seem to mind, though, at least, just grinning and folding the cloak over his arm.  
  
"We'll pull this one off in his honour." He turned to all of them, gesturing to the dangling cloak. "All right, here's what _we_ do..."  
  
And an hour later they were shuffling in slow motion along the corridor where James (and Remus, for some reason) had confirmed Dumbledore's office lay, shushing one another down from giggles or the occasional "Ouch!" the close quarters couldn't help but cause. James called a halt in front of an enormous tapestry of a group of wizards who for some reason had their heads in buckets, and they flattened back toward the wall, twitching and fussing at the edges of the cloak to make sure they were all covered head to foot.  
  
"Now be completely quiet," James hissed, leaning forward slightly across Sirius to the other two. "We wait until we see him go, and then and _only then_ we make our move."  
  
"Don't you think he might -- " Remus began in a low, long-suffering voice, but James shushed him up before he could say anything sensible.  
  
It wasn't too long a wait -- probably no more than five minutes, although it felt a lot longer with Peter standing on several of Sirius's toes and all of them trying not to breathe. Finally, the gargoyle in front of the wall leapt aside, and stairs appeared where it had been; and Dumbledore emerged, humming under his breath and patting the gargoyle on its stone head as he passed. It jumped back into place, and Dumbledore came down the hall, passing right by with the edges of his robes rustling less than a foot away from their noses. And for a moment -- just for a moment, but again it felt years long -- Sirius was filled with a sudden paranoid certainty that Dumbledore was smiling directly at where they were standing... but then it was over, and he had passed by, still humming, without a word. He supposed he must just have been imagining it, or that Dumbledore'd been looking at the tapestry through them, instead.  
  
When at last the sounds of his footsteps had faded around the corner of the hallway, James grabbed Sirius's shoulder. "All right," he said, still mostly in a whisper. "Now's our chance." Which he'd hardly needed to say, but Sirius supposed he'd been waiting for weeks now just to be able to, so it didn't seem fair to begrudge him.  
  
They inched up to the gargoyle, still covered by the cloak, just in case. Once Dumbledore had gone down to the Great Hall, Elvis Dobbs would move into position with the Dungbombs, but they wouldn't have much cover until then. Sirius stared up at the gargoyle's great stone head and then murmured to James, "So what do we do?"  
  
"There's a password," James whispered back, frowning up at it as well. "Let me see..." He raised his voice to full volume, and said to the gargoyle, "Fudge Flies!"  
  
Nothing happened, and James shrugged, making the cloak rustle over all of them. "Must've changed it since," he said. "It was months ago when I got hauled in last. Any ideas?"  
  
"Is it always sweets?" Remus asked, unexpectedly, and they all looked at him. He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "Just wondering."  
  
"Dunno," James said. "Reckon we should try some others?"  
  
Which made for a very entertaining and rather exhausting next ten minutes. Peter did himself proud; his vocabulary far outlasted any of theirs, and he kept calling things even when the rest of them had to take a break to think.  
  
Finally, when Sirius was just about to declare surrender in digust, their luck finally came in; Remus cleared his throat one final time, with a faint frown, and said, "Chocolate cordials."  
  
The gargoyle muttered something that sounded a bit like "Well, why didn't you _say_ so?" and shifted moodily aside. James gaped a moment longer, then gaped at Remus, then whipped the cloak off with a small yelp of triumph so that he could gape at Remus properly.  
  
"Excellent!" he said, at last, breaking into a victor's grin. "How'd you think of that?"  
  
Remus shrugged again, looking more uncomfortable about it than ever. "Just popped into my mind."  
  
"We shouldn't waste any more time," Peter whispered, glancing over his shoulder at where Dobbs should be in his hiding place by now.  
  
"All right, men," James said, bundling his cloak under his arm and starting up the stairs. "Here we go."  
  
\---  
  
Remus did his best to try to pretend to be as surprised and fascinated by everything in Dumbledore's office as the rest (well, the rest excepting James), but it was a relief to finally find the Sorting Hat -- seated on a high shelf; he hadn't even noticed it the last time he'd been in here -- and have something else to focus on. As much as he'd protested and felt obligated to protest, he had to admit that, with the possibility of getting to ask the Sorting Hat why he'd found himself in what seemed to him like his _least_ suitable House actually right in front of him, it became more than a little compelling. He glanced around for something that would be safe to boost himself up on, particularly with his arm dislocated, and bit his lip at the spectacular lack.  
  
"Need a hand?" This was Sirius, coming up behind him from the side of Dumbledore's desk; apparently the novelty had worn off a bit for him as well. He didn't bother waiting for a reply, though -- just slipped his arms around Remus's waist and lifted him. Remus decided now would be an excellent time to have a small heart attack.  
  
"I, um! I. What."  
  
Sirius laughed -- practically in his _ear_ , so that Remus could feel warm breath stirring his hair from behind, and his stomach did something he hadn't even known stomachs could do without being sick immediately thereafter -- and reaffirmed his grip. His forearms had rucked up Remus's jumper and shirt and a part of Sirius's hand and wrist with smooth skin lining it were pressed to the bare skin of his belly. Remus fought against closing his eyes, and tried to tell whatever bizarre enormous thing was happening with him it was not appropriate and he didn't have time for it right now. "Oh, come on, I'm not going to drop you," Sirius said, and shifted his weight back, letting Remus rest against him. This improved matters not in the slightest. "James, give him a stirrup."  
  
James jogged over to them and did, offering his laced hands a little ways off the ground, and Sirius hauled Remus up enough that he could at least try to put his numb, clumsy foot into it and boost himself up. After a few tries he even got it, and then Sirius's hands were merely at the small of his back, balancing him as he was launched up to where he could take down the hat with his good hand, without hopping or hurting himself worse. Remus climbed down as quickly as he could after, hoping he wasn't as violently red as he felt. "Thanks," he muttered, looking at none of them, and cleared his throat. "...You first, Peter?"  
  
"I dunno," Peter said, but he made his reluctant way over and let Remus put the hat on his head nonetheless. Remus wandered a bit away, sensing this was something that could use decorous privacy. And also hoping that his pulse might go back to normal. What was _wrong_ with him? ...Although a better question might have been of what was wrong with Sirius and James, whose current engagement -- trying to cadge a feather from the extremely annoyed-looking, resplendent bird Dumbledore's ugly chick had apparently grown into -- Remus chose _not_ to notice. He supposed the circumstances suggested there was quite a lot wrong with all of them, and probably best to leave it at that.  
  
At last Peter emerged from the hat, looking rumpled and troubled, and set it on Dumbledore's desk. "What did it say?" James asked, with apparent interest, turning from the bird. Peter shook his head, still frowning at it.  
  
"Nothing much," Peter said, and shrugged, seeming to shrug it off as he did. "Just kept asking me why _I_ thought." James shrugged back and returned his attention to the bird, but Remus thought this didn't seem like the whole truth; still, what business was it of his? He didn't know that he'd want to tell when he'd had done. Peter looked at him, with a small smile. "Remus?"  
  
He nodded, taking a long, bracing breath, and then picked up the hat and plunked it on his head.  
  
"Why, hello to you too, Lupin," the hat's smaller, more intimate voice said in his ear at once, sounding more than a little amused. "I trust you and Pettigrew had the same question in mind?"  
  
"Yes," Remus whispered into its interior darkness, and was rewarded with a soft laugh.  
  
"Oh, that's all right, you can just think it. Can't hide much from me, after all!" Remus found himself thinking at once that this was not remotely comforting, but then tried to banish it just as quickly. "But tell me, Lupin -- do you really think you need a _hat_ , even an extremely clever hat, to tell you why you belong among the bravest of the brave?"  
  
Remus frowned; this sounded depressingly like what Peter had reported. Perhaps the hat was just having an off day. _Er -- yes, actually. That's why I came._  
  
"Yes, it's very much what I told Pettigrew, and I'll tell you the same," the hat continued, cheerfully enough. "You give it a while, think it over, and then decide whether you need to ask. But I'll tell you this -- there's nothing hidden in my Sorting, for I've nothing to hide. If I put you among the Hufflepuffs, then I see hard work in your disposition. If I put you in Slytherin, why then, I've seen right through to your ambition. And if I say Gryffindor when I'm on your head, then it's Gryffindor you are. Do you see?"  
  
 _I... suppose so. You're saying I_ am _brave. But --_  
  
"No buts!" the hat declared. "Hats belong on heads! Now, off with you; the rest is up to you and you alone to work out -- and I do apologize for saying so, but you are keeping me from a very nice nap."  
  
 _Oh. I'm very sorry._  
  
"Not to worry -- "  
  
And then he'd lifted it off, and set it aside again, and he imagined with much the same expression Peter had worn doing so just a moment before.  
  
"Didn't give you much useful, eh?" Peter said, sympathetically, no sooner than Remus had thought it; he was standing over by one of the silver instruments, prodding it to see if it would start spinning in another direction. Remus shrugged, attempting to sort out his hair with one hand.  
  
"I don't know, exactly. It doesn't seem much for straight answers."  
  
"Grownups never are," Sirius said, rolling his eyes, coming over behind the desk; Remus jumped back in reflexive alarm, but Sirius just pulled out Dumbledore's chair and stood on it, something Remus couldn't even imagine ever daring himself. "And it's probably older than all the rest of them put together."  
  
"D'you find any exams, James?" Peter asked hopefully, but James shook his head, returning from the cabinet he'd been tugging at.  
  
"Nah, seems like everything's locked up." He sighed, and then glanced around the room, which seemed to lift his spirits again. "But it's brilliant, isn't it? Can't believe we made it, but I'm glad we gave it a go. I could spend a month in here and never get sick of it. Well -- provided I was the only one."  
  
Peter nodded, and Remus did too, he thought a bit more sincerely. From behind him he thought he faintly heard Sirius hiss "And what are you looking at, then? _I_ didn't say I wanted to hear from you," to the hat, but that was just Sirius for you.  
  
And then, for the first time in his life but certainly not the last, no matter how dearly he might come to wish it -- Remus smelled Dungbombs.  
  
So did James, apparently; he looked suddenly wild, lifting his head and then shaking out the Invisibility Cloak in a hurried rumple of cloth. "Smell that?" he said, his voice gone high and thin with strain. "That's the signal! He's coming back!"  
  
They all made a mad scuffling dash, tripping over one another, to get to James and back under the cloak, making the bird by the door ruffle its wings in apparent disdain. He threw it over all of them and hastily tugged it into position -- good thing it was so big, Remus thought distantly -- and they started shuffling toward the door... and got to no more than a few feet from it when it opened.  
  
It was only by the grace of God and James Potter that Dumbledore didn't crash directly into them the second he came in the door; at the last second he became frowningly concerned with unsticking one of the handful of toffees he had brought back from dinner from the rest, and by then James was already in motion, throwing an arm across all of their chests and pushing them back, just slowly enough to keep quiet, to flatten against the wall next to the door. Finally Dumbledore got the sweets separated, and smiled as he turned away from the open door to pop first one into his own mouth, and then another into the bird's gaping beak. "There you are, Fawkes," he murmured, and stroked its head, either the toffee or the caress making it trill. "Did anything interesting happen while I was gone?"  
  
 _Go,_ James mouthed elaborately at them, and they did.  
  
There was another tense, terrifying moment where Dumbledore almost closed the door on Remus -- he was only saved by Dumbledore's becoming fortuitously distracted by the sticking knob -- and then they had squeaked through, having to fight instinct to stay silent on the stairs and not just pelt down them hell-bent on freedom. When they finally emerged from behind the gargoyle again James whipped off the cloak, which made the smell much worse; they could hear Filch cursing his way down one of the side corridors, no doubt in search of the source of the stench -- who by now was hopefully long gone. " _Run for it,_ " James gasped -- and again none of them had to be told twice.  
  
By the time they were in sight of Gryffindor Tower again they were completely out of breath, laughing crazily, and hungry all over again.  
  
\---  
  
"I trust Mr. Lupin found everything he was looking for?" Dumbledore said, smiling, without looking around, as he settled himself back in at his desk.  
  
"Well, I don't know about _that_ , Headmaster," the Sorting Hat chuckled, from its completely new position on the shelf. "But unlike myself, I think he's been pointed in the right direction."  
  
"What more can any of us ask?" Dumbledore said, and held up his hand. "Toffee?"  
  
\---  
  
The phoenix feather that James had finally managed to grub out of the ash-tray beneath Fawkes's perch -- the actual phoenix having had absolutely none of James's efforts to pluck him -- became a well-known feature of the Gryffindor boys' dormitory over the following years: much observed, much wondered about, and only very cautiously discussed.  
  
\---  
  
"All it said was I was brave," Remus whispered, staring up at the ceiling; he'd already let his book fall face-open on his chest as he lay on his back. Sirius didn't even know when he'd ended up lying down, but he _had_ noticed that Remus's inability to seem comfortable on Sirius's bed had faded as he'd gotten more and more tired. They were up alone with the curtains closed around them, a small magical light hovering, Peter and James already long since gone to bed. "That it wasn't like a trick or anything, I mean, that it's really just for all the reasons it says it is. But I'm _not_ brave. I don't suppose I'm just even lazier, less ambitious, and stupider by comparison?"  
  
"I think you're brave," Sirius said, his voice slightly mushed by having his cheek against the blankets. Remus glanced at him, and then laughed a little, letting his eyes close.  
  
"You're just teasing me."  
  
"I'm not!" It came out louder than he'd meant, his head raising up from the bed he was sitting beside, and he went quiet for a moment in spite of his irritation. Remus was looking at him curiously, and Sirius shrugged, looking down. "I don't know why you think that. You're doing this whole new thing, trying to learn to be a wizard when you've barely even known you were one before, and with your mum sick and your having to take care of her and all, and... I dunno, that seems brave to me. And you never complain about it, you just never stop doing homework. I'd go mad."  
  
"Well..." Remus opened his eyes again, looking straight up with a small frown between them. "That's not being brave, though. I mean, I don't have a choice in that. You and James -- you're not afraid of anything, you go _looking_ for trouble. _You're_ the ones who're brave."  
  
Sirius waved his hand. "That's not being brave, that's being stupid," he said, and Remus put his good hand over his mouth to suppress a laugh. "...It does seem to be what everybody else got in on, though. Maybe they're just being nice when they say Gryffindor's brave, maybe it's just that we're really thick, and sometimes it looks like the same thing." He was grinning now, because Remus was laughing, and propping his chin on his hands. "And see, you're thick as well, for hanging round with us! So there you are, I've solved it."  
  
"I guess so," Remus said, and paused for a moment; he looked at Sirius, without turning his head, then down at nothing, and then closed his eyes again. "Do you really think I'm brave, or are you just cheering me up?"  
  
"I think you're sort of amazing," Sirius said. He _was_ cheering Remus up, he thought, at least a little -- it was hard to say, it wasn't something he'd ever tried much before -- but when the words came out of his mouth, they sounded oddly sincere, and oddly true.  
  
A tiny curve formed at the corners of Remus's lips -- no more than that, but that in itself was profoundly good somehow that Sirius was content to just sit there and watch it, chin on his folded hands, legs curled under him on the floor. He was still like that five minutes later, when he realized that Remus had fallen asleep, eyes closed, mouth slightly parted, hand folded on the open book resting above the sling on his chest.  
  
And Remus Lupin, Sirius discovered, did not snore at _all_.  
  
He stole one of the pillows and one of the blankets off the edge of his own bed, and wrapped himself up in them on the floor; and he was still smiling when he fell asleep.  
  
\---  
  
It hadn't occurred to Sirius that he hadn't seen Remus in the common room at all that Saturday; if he'd thought about it, he might have just assumed that his mum was sick again. It only sank in, though, when he came up the dormitory stairs to get one his books -- exams were approaching and he guessed he might have to at least _look_ at some of his assigned reading -- and passing the other half of the first-year dormitory heard Remus muttering " _Wingardium leviosa!_ " and sounding extremely irritated about it.  
  
"Remus?" He poked his head in, already expecting the Remus would jump and look guilty about what he was doing, but this time he was actually disappointed; Remus looked too cross to be jumpy or guilty, sitting on the edge of his bed with a feather in front of him at which he was glaring like it had insulted his ailing mother. "What are you doing up here?"  
  
"Just trying to get this to work," Remus said, nearly under his breath, and then burst out, "I'm never going to be able to manage the practical exams! I understand all the theory, it's just so _hard_ to make it _do_ anything!"  
  
"Relax," Sirius said, coming into the room -- and trying not to _edge_ into the room, or look too alarmed at the very thought of Remus becoming frustrated enough to raise his voice at _anything_. He hadn't been entirely aware that Remus's voice raised. "It's not that bad, you're probably just nervous -- "  
  
"Then I've been nervous all _year_ ," Remus said, biting his lip in between, into the hand he'd pressed over his forehead. Sirius sat down on the bed next to him, tilting his head to try to see his eyes.  
  
"Well -- you sort of have, you know." Remus didn't laugh, but Sirius hadn't really expected him to. "Here, I'll help."  
  
"I don't know if you can. It's just -- " Remus sighed, and let his hand drop. "D'you think they'd let me take it _without_ my wand?"  
  
Sirius stared at him for several long ticks, until Remus started to glance at him uncomfortably. "What do you mean?" he said, at last. "I mean, why would you want to?"  
  
And instead of answering, Remus set down his wand, narrowed his eyes, and lifted his empty hand.  
  
The feather rose slowly -- but it rose.  
  
Sirius stared -- first at Remus, then at the feather, then at both. It took him several minutes to find his voice. "You can do that without a wand?" was all it could say once he had, although he was well aware that was a fairly stupid thing to pick. "I mean, just like that? Merlin, I don't know what you're worried about!"  
  
Remus frowned at him, letting the feather down on the bedspread. "What do you mean? ...Can't everyone?"  
  
"Well -- sort of." Sirius frowned, and pushed hair back out of his eyes. "I mean, everybody does when they're small and don't know any better, but that's like when you get really scared or upset and you just do it without thinking. It's not something you have under control -- you go to school to learn to do things on purpose, and by then you'll have a wand." He looked at the feather and Remus's hand again, still not quite able to convince himself of the relationship between the two. _Remus?_ his mind kept asking itself, in a tone of disbelief that frankly could have been taken as something of an insult. _Remus?_ "It's just -- it's a lot _harder_ to do magic without a wand. They're not there to get in your way or anything, they... well, they sort of channel your magic, and point it in the right direction. Otherwise you're just giving off magic every which way, and wasting a lot of your energy." He glanced at Remus, and found Remus frowning at him in a way that said Sirius was the first one to make even a fumbling attempt at explaining this to him. "...Isn't it _hard_?"  
  
"About as hard as doing it _with_ the wand," Remus said, low, "but then I haven't got to concentrate on whether I'm swishing when I'm flicking when I could be concentrating on the stupid feather." He sighed, and pushed at his hair. "I don't -- I don't know. I just thought, you know, it was something people _do_."  
  
"You must be a lot more magical than you think you are," Sirius said, but Remus just looked away, and he sighed. "Look -- you've got to just be doing the wand motions wrong. It's simple. I'll show you the right way."  
  
Remus picked up his wand again, looking doubtful, and Sirius scooted around behind him and took him by his wrist -- trying to ignore the way Remus always seemed to freeze up when Sirius touched him. He tried not to startle Remus with it, but he guessed some people were just sensitive that way. "All right, like this," he said, peering over Remus's shoulder. "You say the incantation, and I'll show you the movement. Ready?"  
  
It took about fifteen minutes of swishing, flicking, incanting, cursing, Sirius finally taking out his _own_ wand for comparison, and thorough examination of the feather before he was willing to admit that he might have underestimated the problem.  
  
"This doesn't make any sense," Sirius said, glaring at the wand himself now, while Remus fiddled with a bit of his shirt and frowned at nothing. "You're doing everything right, we both are. Why does it float for me and not for you? It's ridiculous!"  
  
"That's what I've been trying to say," Remus said softly, and now stared down at his hands. "Maybe I'm -- just not very good at it."  
  
"You're _brilliant_ , that's the whole _thing_." Sirius dug his hands into his hair and then let them drop. "It just doesn't make any sense -- "  
  
"Yes it does!" Remus burst out finally, and snatched at their crossed wands on the bedspread. "I'm just not _normal_ , and I can't do anything _right_ , and I'll never be able to get a feather to fly by saying something as _stupid_ as _wingardium leviosa_ \-- "  
  
There was a small bang, like a firework, and for a second Sirius would have sworn the feather _glowed_ a little -- as if with an inner core of power. Then he had no way of being sure, because the feather had not just floated -- it had blasted off, top speed, straight up. They both looked up, slowly, and found it stuck with its shaft in the dormitory ceiling, slightly quivering.  
  
A long silence followed.  
  
"Um," Sirius said, at last, and then, "...You know, that's -- my wand."  
  
"...Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry -- " Remus fumbled it, then seemed to think better of dropping it altogether and set it very gently down on the bed again. "Sorry, I'm really, I didn't -- "  
  
"It's all right," Sirius said, staring down at his own wand and Remus's, in a heap again, with his brow furrowed -- and then back up at the feather stuck in the ceiling. "Just a mistake. Where did you get your wand, exactly?"  
  
"Oh. Um... it was my grandmother's. My mum had it, but no one was using it, and she just gave it to... what?"  
  
"You're not even using your own wand?" Sirius asked, unable now to keep pure incredulity from drowning his voice. "For Merlin's sake, Remus, how do you _live_?" Remus didn't seem to have an answer for that, and Sirius supposed there wasn't much reason to expect him to. "...Look, it's -- you can't just go around using any old wand. They've got to match up with you somehow. It's sort of like they're alive -- they're choosy about how they'll work and when. The wand chooses the wizard, people say." Remus wasn't staring at him this time, though; he'd put his head down in his hands and was sitting very still. Sirius tried to press on anyway. "I guess mine's better suited to you, but -- you've _got_ to have your own wand, I can't even imagine how you've made it this far."  
  
"I don't have _time_ ," Remus said, from out of the bowl of his hands, sounding exhausted and a little shaky in a way that made Sirius sit back away from him and look somewhere else. "And I -- " He pulled his hands away, throwing them into his lap in frustration, levelling a look at Sirius that was an oddly chest-hurting mix of humiliation and dignity. "Look, thank you, but... my family hasn't got much money. I don't think I can _afford_ one."  
  
"But..." Sirius tried to process this idea, and found it nearly too boggling to even begin with. Not able to afford a _wand_? It was like saying you couldn't afford to _eat_. ...Which, granted, now that he thought about it he supposed some people couldn't. It was a very discomfiting subject, at any rate, and he tried to stop thinking about it. "How are you planning to get through exams?"  
  
"I don't know," Remus said, and let out a small harsh bark of laughter. "Wave my wand with one hand and lift it with the one under the table?"  
  
Sirius lapsed into an awkward silence, then, trying to think. There was no way without a proper wand, it just wasn't possible... except, actually, it was. Hadn't he just seen it happen?  
  
"Remus," he said, and then gripped Remus's shoulder with the crest of excitement in his own chest. "Take the exams with my wand."  
  
Remus stared at him, looking at least as much horrified as surprised. "What? I -- no, I can't."  
  
"Yes you can. We're both Gryffindors, we're in all the classes together -- "  
  
"What'll you use?"  
  
"My wand." Remus started to speak again, and Sirius cut him off. "No, look, they can't have us all do the practical at once, right? It'd be chaos, how could you grade anything? They'll count us off one at a time to do it, so I'll take the tests when the teachers come round to me, and then I'll pass you my wand under the table, and you can take them. Nobody'll ever know the difference."  
  
"What if they do, though?" Remus said, looking suddenly alarmed. "What if they catch us?"  
  
"Then we'll explain why you can't use your own wand," Sirius said, and rolled his eyes. "Come on, they're not _ogres_. We could probably just explain it to begin with, but where's the fun in that."  
  
Remus was biting his lip again, his fingers twisting absently around his wand. "I don't know... I just -- "  
  
"Why can't you just let me help you?" Sirius burst out; he found himself saying it before he could stop himself, and then as soon as it was out he found himself regretting it. Remus didn't say anything, though, or get angry, just looked down again, and Sirius took a breath. "It'll be fine, I promise. And you know, I care about whether you pass your exams too, all right?"  
  
And he tried to convince himself that he wasn't surprised to find _that_ was true, as well.  
  
Remus chewed on his lip some more, and then let it go, sighing and dropping his wand again. _He'll say no,_ Sirius thought suddenly, his stomach twisting, and was unable to identify or explain why the thought was so depressing. _He'll say no now, he doesn't need my help, he'll just do it all on his own and he won't --_  
  
"Thank you," Remus said, quietly. And because it wasn't the sort of situation where you grinned, Sirius tried not to.  
  
\---  
  
Sirius and James were the only ones with owls, and in twin sprawls on the late-spring grass they both swore up and down that they'd be the ones to write to Peter and Remus first, so they'd have a way to send replies. The weather came over beautiful for their last day: all clear pleasant warmth and blue skies. It was hard to even think of leaving here, with the forest shifting shades of green under the wind's touch, and the lake rippling back jewels of the sun.  
  
"What do you say to all meeting up in Diagon Alley right before we go back to school?" Sirius said, finally, and then aimed a finger at Remus. "We need to get you a new wand, for one thing."  
  
Remus opened his mouth, no doubt to protest, but he was cut off by Peter, who appeared to be sinking halfway down inside his robes. "I can't," he said to the grass. "My mum'll never let me go."  
  
"Well, neither will mine," Sirius said, shrugging. "You don't see it stopping me." Peter smiled halfheartedly, but didn't say anything else. "Remus?"  
  
"I've never been," Remus said. "...I'm not sure I'd know how to get there."  
  
"We'll come pick you up, then!" James said. Remus glanced at him, eyes widening.  
  
"Oh, no -- you don't have to, I -- "  
  
"Nah, that sounds great," Sirius said, and something about his grin seemed to make Remus subside again. "I'll definitely owl you beforehand, we'll work out when."  
  
"Have a good time," Peter said, now into the cupped bowl of his hands under his chin. James laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.  
  
"Not to worry, mate. We'll get you something nice."  
  
"Yeah, how about some Dungbombs? Things seem dead useful -- "  
  
In the end James walked back up to the castle for dinner a bit early, wanting to get some more packing done; he left the three of them still sprawled out on the lawn, Sirius bothering Peter with a plucked blade of grass and Remus trying to look disapproving, and grinned to himself. Good first year, he thought, putting one trainer on a rock and vaulting over it in a high-spirited hop. Good adventures, good trouble, good mates.  
  
It had occurred to him, only glancingly, before that Peter Pettigrew might not have had many friends in his life before coming to Hogwarts; now, thinking about it a little more seriously, he thought Peter might _never_ have had friends before them, at least not to speak of. Neither, for that matter, might Remus Lupin; he was an excellent bloke, but kept to himself rather a lot, after all. But here, he and Sirius had adopted them both, and regardless of whether they'd had friends before, now they did. That thought made him feel a bit of a hero, and he found himself hopping on rocks most of the way back to the castle, beaming up into the sunshine from overhead.  
  
About handsome, charming, funny Sirius Black, however, it never even occurred to him to think the same thing.  
  
The next day, they met the Hogwarts Express at the Hogsmeade station; and the train took them home for the summer.


	3. Four Secrets, One Of Which Is Discovered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second year brings revelation and change.

So here Remus was again, on the front step, not even bothering to pretend to be reading the book sitting closed on his lap.  
  
The letter had said around two o'clock, but he had come outside before half past one, in spite of the knowledge that when it came to James and Sirius it was best to estimate later rather than sooner. By now it was probably well after two, and he was more than a little both lethargic and sweaty, although it wasn't hard to keep his eyes open for all their growing heaviness. The letter itself was tucked inside his book even now, between two random pages. He must have read it at least as many times as he'd read the one about the meeting at Hogwarts last summer.  
  
The text itself was a confused jumble of two handwritings, and it had made him grin, how easy it was to picture the two of them grabbing it back and forth between them, through the rambling asides and little arrows pointing to each other's paragraphs with insults and rude stick-figure drawings at the edges. The gist of it, as he had surmised from what little had made any real sense, was that Sirius had managed to connive his way to James's house for the end of the summer; it actually sounded like it hadn't been all that hard, considering that most of his time at home had apparently been passed in a kind of cold war between Sirius and his mother. From the sound of him, Remus thought she might have been as happy to be rid of him as he was of her. (Sirius had actually seemed like he might have liked to go on about the situation at some greater length, from a couple of beginnings and crossings-out, but in the end he appeared to have been cowed by the very unkind and probably inaccurate doodle of the mother in question James had contributed to the margins of the conversation.) They would come together to pick Remus up from home -- Peter indeed having had to bow out of the adventure -- take him to Diagon Alley, and then they'd all spend the night at the Potters' before going to the train the next day, if it was all right.  
  
Which, of course, had at once gripped him with terror that it might _not_ be, and he had gone to his mother as though to his own execution; but in the end, she hadn't been able to find a reason to say no. Term started dead between moons, after all, and he wasn't even in that bad shape from the last one -- rather miraculously, all things considered, although the moons were always easier in the summer: they didn't last as long, to say the least. He'd had a twisted knee and a solid wall of bruises down one side, from when he had apparently gotten all the way up the cellar stairs only to rebound off the door at the top and fall right back down them, but those minor hurts were mending by now, leaving him only sore and yellowed. She had sighed, her own book closed on her propped-up legs on the sofa, and looked at him levelly.  
  
"I'm not going to tell you no, Remus," she'd said, and in his excitement he'd actually bitten his tongue by accident, which really hurt much more at the moment than his monthly injuries did, as this had been just yesterday. "But I am going to tell you to be careful."  
  
"I will, mum," he'd started to say, but she'd shaken her head, and touched the chair next to the sofa; he'd sat down, frowning, and she had looked down at her hands, back in her lap.  
  
"I don't just mean about -- what you are," she'd said, presently, after a moment of frowning herself in thought. "I didn't want to spoil your fun at school, but I'm a bit concerned about these boys. ...Do you know anything about the Black family, Remus?"  
  
"Yes," he'd said, maybe even a touch defiantly, and that seemed to surprise her; she had looked up, her frown deeper, and he had had to look away. "Sirius told me. He said... they've all been in Slytherin, and a lot of them are sort of Dark wizards, and... they think people who don't have wizard parents aren't as good as the ones that do." He'd risked a look up at her after this, and found that he _had_ surprised her: her face had been set, almost rigid, but in the way where he knew she was trying not to give away any loss of balance. " _And_ he told me he hates all of them."  
  
"His family?" his mother had asked, and he had firmed his mouth to nod at her. She'd considered this for a moment, tapping her finger on the cover of her book. "Well... all right, I suppose. As long as you understand why I'm concerned." He nodded again, not that she was looking at him. "It's very hard for people to leave behind what they've been told all their lives, Remus. Even if your friend doesn't think he cares for his family, you're both very young, and he still sometimes might..." She had paused, finally looking at him, and really _looking_ at him, and broken off from whatever she'd been saying. "I suppose it doesn't matter. _You_ know better than to think any of those things are right, don't you?" He nodded one more time, rather emphatically, and she gave him a brief, rare smile. "There's a good boy." And, after a longer, more serious look: "You _haven't_ let anything slip to your friends, have you? Even just by accident? It's very important -- "  
  
"No!" He had been as startled to find himself indignant as he was by the question itself. "I _know_ , I haven't said a thing. To them or anyone, I promise."  
  
But for half a second, in the pause between, he had drawn breath to say something about Sirius -- how curious he had been about Remus's absences, aggravatingly so, and how perceptive -- and then at last closed his mouth firmly against it. No. That wasn't even his _fault_ , was it? He'd told her only the truth, he couldn't help what Sirius did or didn't come up with on his own. Let her think that he was so stupid he couldn't even keep a secret when it might mean his whole life at Hogwarts, or his whole life period; he didn't need to give her any more reason.  
  
"They don't know," was all he had finally said, and this time her slight smile came with an even rarer touch of her fingers on his knee.  
  
"Good," she'd said again, and turned her attention back to her book, or at least affected to. "I worry about you at school, that's all. You know that."  
  
 _You worry about me more when you have to see me,_ he'd almost said, but then didn't. It still wasn't fair. She _did_ worry about him; he knew that, and so did every sour taste of guilt in the back of his throat.  
  
"I know, mum," he'd said instead, and tried to smile at her. "Thanks."  
  
"Friends from school?" his father had said at dinner that night, looking up from his plate with raised eyebrows. "I don't see why not. It'd do you good to spend more time with boys your own age, Remus." And that had been the end of that, although he'd never explained that last remark. Remus supposed his dad was just pleased he'd made some friends at all.  
  
To say he was pleased himself was a terrible understatement, for that matter; as the trails of sweat soaking into his collar would attest.  
  
The sudden sound of a loud _crack_ up the drive made him jump -- and then jump to his feet, when it was followed at once by the sounds of two boys' voices, two very _familiar_ boys' voices, raised in some sort of hilarious outrage, and then an older woman's trying to quell them. " -- right, all _right_!" this last was saying, exasperated but laughing along, coming clear through the copse of trees up the walk even over the mingled shouts. "Yes, I _know_ it's not very pleasant, but neither is the _walk_ , boys, now settle down -- "  
  
" _Why_ couldn't we have flown, mum?" If there'd been any question before, there wasn't now; Remus absolutely knew who that voice belonged to, and in spite of the heat it brought him at a grinning and increasingly giddy jog down the stairs, over the dusty, weedy drive, toward it and the others, pouring sweat and baking and not caring in the slightest for his shirt or his lame knee or his abandoned book -- "What's the point getting me a new broom if you never let me ride it?"  
  
"You've been riding it all summer long!"  
  
"Too right, you wouldn't even let me have a go." And if there was any voice that could make him _run_ , so fast he nearly collided with a tree --  
  
"Not to mention -- " the woman's voice began again, and then the three figures came clear at last through the little patch of wood, and --  
  
"Remus!" James interrupted, in a joyful yell; he'd just turned, and spotted Remus coming between the trees. He threw his hands in the air, whooping again, probably unnecessarily. "You're alive! We thought you'd've died of boredom by now!"  
  
"Almost," Remus said, panting, his pace slackening off with a stagger as he joined them in the clearing, but by then Sirius was already turning from the discussion as well, his face lighting up with delight.  
  
"We found you!" he yelled himself, and pounced; Remus didn't have time to do much more than look alarmed before Sirius had collided with him in a massive crushing hug, laughing and sweaty himself. The same bizarre but by now familiar thing flipped upside down in Remus's stomach, and he fought hard to keep from doing anything extremely weird like noticing how Sirius's hair smelled. (Dark and crisp, and a little green, like pine needles. Also sweaty.) "We thought you'd get lost in all the Muggles," Sirius continued, pulling back to hold Remus's shoulders at arm's length, "we thought we'd have to put up posters and ask at the shops."  
  
"We did?" James asked, sounding amused, at the same time that Remus was saying helpfully, "They do put numbers on the houses, you know."  
  
Sirius didn't appear fazed in the slightest, acting out a small if exaggerated drama with a nearby trunk. "We'd pretend to be Muggles, see -- Pardon me, sir, have you seen our Remus? He's about this tall, reads loads of books, looks like..." He stopped, and frowned, finally taking a good look at Remus. "Looks like he fell down a flight of stairs, actually. What happened to _you_?"  
  
"I fell down a flight of stairs, actually," Remus said, smiling. It was the truth, after all. "...I tripped, it was really stupid. But you know, Muggles don't normally go around asking trees where people are."  
  
"Well, how do they ever find out, then?" Sirius asked, affecting indignance, and then James took it upon himself to loudly intervene.  
  
"Mum, this is Remus. Remus, this is my mum."  
  
"Hello, dear," Mrs. Potter said, recovering from what appeared to be a small fit of repressed amusement. She was a very pleasant-looking woman, older than Remus's mother -- who he'd actually thought was older than most people his age's mothers, and it surprised him -- with a long plait of silver hair down her back, thick rectangular glasses, and a rather peculiar outfit somewhere between robes and a patchwork summer dress. "I'm Mrs. Potter. I've heard so much about you, it's lovely to get to spend some time with James's friends." She gave James's hair a fond ruffle, which he bore with patience and much embarrassed eye-rolling. "And what a nice spot this is! Do you live nearby?"  
  
"Yes, it's very close, actually," Remus said, trying to meet her eyes as he smiled back. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Potter. Would you all, er, like to come in for a bit?"  
  
"That would be lovely. Best to reassure your mother that we're not total strangers, whisking you away! Come on, boys -- "  
  
...Oh, yes. His mother. Well, this would be interesting.  
  
\---  
  
Sirius was sure he could have picked out Remus's mum even out of a giant crowd, let alone coming to the door of Remus's house; she had the same long face and long nose, the same pale gingery-brown hair (although hers was threaded with grey, and tied back into a swooping knot behind her head), the same sleepy-eyed smile in such a tired face that it looked almost reluctant. She was also very tall, though, which Remus didn't seem to be taking after so much, but what about that?  
  
"Mum, this is James and Sirius, and Mrs. Potter," Remus said, very softly, and Mrs. Lupin glanced them both over as they introduced themselves; Sirius thought her gaze lingered a little longer on him, but couldn't be sure.  
  
"It's nice to meet you both," Mrs. Lupin said, and turned her attention upwards. "And -- James's mother?"  
  
"Yes, I'm Ella," Mrs. Potter said, and stuck out her hand, which Mrs. Lupin shook before turning to let them all inside.  
  
"Silvia. It's a pleasure."  
  
"Oh, likewise!" Mrs. Lupin started in on tea, and Sirius tried to crane his head to take a look at the Muggle stuff all round the room without being noticed; half of it he couldn't even figure out what it was for at a glance, and after that James started giving him knowing looks and he quit on it. He looked over at Remus instead, who was fidgeting with a hole in his t-shirt; he had a momentary urge to just up and hug him again, but managed to suppress it. James's house had been brilliant, but late at night when he couldn't sleep and didn't dare get up from the sleeping bag to go wander around, he couldn't help really wishing Remus could be there. "I was just telling Remus how delighted I am to finally get to meet James's friends. He's been so excited all summer about his first year at Hogwarts. Isn't it wonderful that they've all found each other?"  
  
"Aw, mum," James said, sounding uncomfortable, and Sirius grinned at Remus sidelong, making him glance over, then smile and look away. James's mum just struck him hilarious, although it was hard to make James see the humour in it. You'd think James was five and had a halo, instead of being regularly known at supper to stick cabbage up his nose and do a more loud than good impression of Snivellus.  
  
"It is," Mrs. Lupin said, in a rather milder tone; but she was smiling as well. "I've heard a lot about it from Remus, as well. Remus, why don't you and your friends go get your things ready while I make Mrs. Potter some tea?"  
  
"Okay, mum."  
  
They tromped up the stairs to Remus's room, James and Sirius trying not to catch Remus's eye as they elbowed each other and grinned over little Muggle things -- the little holes in the walls things with wires attached to, the neat geometric angles of the stairway and the way the house was exactly the same size on the inside as it was out. Remus's room made him feel a bit awkward, though, even after James's and especially after his own; it wasn't much more than a closet over the stairs with a bed in, and as many rows of books and drawers of clothes crammed in as well as would still fit. There was some kind of a medical kit waiting on a shelf next to the bed, Sirius noticed with a small frown, which seemed a bit fussy -- but then, it seemed like Remus _was_ sort of clumsy.  
  
James didn't seem quite as conscious of the lack of space, though, just peering around as Remus edged past them to finish stuffing his trunk. "This is brilliant," he said, and flicked the light switch off and on with a grin until Remus gave him a very patient glance, at which point he turned his attention to the books. "...What's a 'hobbit'?"  
  
"Sort of a long story," Remus said. He was kneeling by the trunk, and Sirius plopped on the foot of the bed in front of him, glancing around.  
  
"Do all your brothers have their own rooms?" James asked. Sirius looked at him a little sharply, but apparently all awkwardness was lost on James Potter. "I mean, it doesn't really seem big enough for that."  
  
Remus smiled briefly, his eyes on the clothes he was settling into his trunk, and thus missing Sirius glaring at James and James mouthing, _What?_ "They do now that my oldest brothers have moved out," he said. "They used to all share, though."  
  
Sirius glanced back at him, eyebrows raised. "Yeah? How come you got your own?"  
  
That made Remus hesitate, just long enough to flicker his eyes up, but still enough that Sirius noticed. "Er... I don't really know." He snapped down the lid. "I suppose just because I'm the youngest, and there's an uneven number."  
  
"Well, it's good anyway," Sirius said, a little too quickly. "Is that it, then?"  
  
"No, my valise -- "  
  
"I'll get it."  
  
They let Remus go first, to wrangle the trunk down the stairs. Sirius fell in behind James, bringing up the rear with the valise, and as they passed the doorway of Remus's bedroom, nudged James with his elbow. James gave him a questioning glance over his shoulder.  
  
"Remus's mum," Sirius said, in a low voice, checking down the stairs to see that Remus was well ahead. "She doesn't really look ill, does she?"  
  
James frowned, started to say something, and then his brow cleared and he shrugged. "Oh. Dunno. I guess."  
  
So Sirius let it go at that; but he frowned all the way down the stairs.  
  
\---  
  
Remus's mum wished them all a good trip, and gave her son a very quick hug and an admonishment to behave at school, and then they were on their way, out the front and down the drive they'd come up before to Disapparate from the stand of trees. It was as they were crossing the front yard, James's mum now carrying the valise and Sirius and Remus hoisting the trunk between them, that Sirius made up his mind.  
  
"Your mum looks pretty well," he said, trying for an offhand tone. Did Remus tense? Now that he was looking for it, he was almost sure he did. "Is she feeling better?"  
  
"Um... yeah," he said, only looking at Sirius long enough for a small, embarrassed smile. "She's been much better this summer -- I think, I think warmer weather helps, sometimes."  
  
"Oh. Well, that's good."  
  
That won him another smile, and he decided to let it go again, since they'd already reached the tree line and Mrs. Potter was gathering them back round; but it stuck in his mind this time, and wouldn't seem to let go. It all made sense, he supposed, but it still didn't all add up, somehow. He had no way of knowing, but Sirius was suddenly certain of at least one thing.  
  
Remus Lupin was keeping a secret.  
  
\---  
  
They split up not long after reaching Diagon Alley, James's mum first taking them to the bank and then waving them off to do some shopping around themselves while she ran errands ("we could use a new toaster, it hasn't been singing for _weeks_ ," Remus was fairly certain she said): a concept that actually boggled Remus's mind far more than any of the bulging overload of fantastical things the place itself had had to offer. He'd found that one went a bit numb to overloads of fantastical things after a while, anyway. Nonetheless, according to James and Sirius's loud insistences, their first stop was obvious.  
  
It seemed like they went through the entire shop, one buzzing, crackling, or just anticlimactic catastrophe after another, before Mr. Ollivander -- looking positively transported by the challenge -- disappeared into the back for several long minutes and reemerged with an a box covered in what looked like centuries' worth of dust. When he lifted off the lid, Remus's eyes widened a little; all of the wands were certainly attractive, but this one was _really_ beautiful, carved in twists and whorls that almost looked like bas-relief figures, glints of an odd, glazed yellow-white peeping startlingly out of the dark wood in places. He went to pick it up and it was sparking almost before he'd gotten it into the air.  
  
"Is that what it's supposed to do?" he asked, almost under his breath, trying to hold the wand as loosely between thumb and forefinger as possible as it hummed with life. James nodded, grinning at him.  
  
"More than, actually. That must be some wand."  
  
"That looked like a keeper!" Sirius's voice called from the other side of the shop, coming with a grin as he turned from the boxes he'd been examining. Remus shot an anxious, distracted smile in his direction.  
  
"Excellent," Mr. Ollivander was saying then, peering at the wand. "And very unusual. It's rare that I find a match for one of that particular stock. Ten inches, mahogany, firm but flexible, core of werewolf bone fragments -- "  
  
There was a soft _thump_ as Remus dropped the wand and it landed back in its box. Mr. Ollivander paused mid-sentence to frown slightly, and Remus mumbled an apology.  
  
"Normally I don't work with such tremendously unstable materials -- ties to the lunar cycle, very tricky to manage -- but in an experimental phase some time ago I decided to give it a go..." Mr. Ollivander shook his head, smiling a thin, almost unpleasant smile. "It's a pleasure to finally find one an owner."  
  
Remus tried to stammer out something, but his mind had gone temporarily blank. He cast a brief glance at James, but the other boy didn't seem to think anything of this conversation; he just looked happy, and gave Remus another encouraging grin.  
  
"Mr. Ollivander, er -- could I talk to you a moment?" Sirius's voice called from the other side of the shop, and Mr. Ollivander excused himself then. "Only I've got a cousin who'll be needing one, I wanted to take a look around..."  
  
"Good luck, eh?" James said, leaning on the counter. Remus stared into the box, gnawing on his lip.  
  
"I don't know... I mean, I can't, really, I'm sure I can't afford it..."  
  
'"Oh, come on, mate, you _have_ to have a wand."  
  
"I've got a wand," Remus pointed out. James snorted.  
  
"Yeah, one that doesn't work. Sirius can't swap with you _all_ the time."  
  
This was hard to debate, but he tried his best in hushed tones, as Sirius and Mr. Ollivander disappeared into the ranks of stacked boxes and shelves beyond them. James put up such a spirited defense Remus never even noticed them talking.  
  
\---  
  
The stacks of boxes were skimmed with dust, spiders spinning and climbing between occasional corners. Sirius turned as soon as they were out of sight, and did his best to look steely and old. He found, just as he was opening his mouth, that he was trying to sound like his mother -- cool, tart, already weary of the addressed -- and as much as he cringed from that image, he clung to it at the same time. It _worked_ , didn't it?  
  
"Mr. Ollivander," he said, in a low voice, "how much is that wand worth?"  
  
Mr. Ollivander cast a glance back at the counter, and turned his pale eyes back to Sirius. "That particular wand is an antique, and made with quite specialized materials," he replied. "I'm afraid I could ask no less than fifteen Galleons for it."  
  
Sirius nodded. "I'll give you twenty if you tell him it's three," he said, gamely enough.  
  
Mr. Ollivander looked at him for a long moment, curiously, searchingly long, as if Sirius were something new and odd that had wandered into his shop and he had yet to decide precisely what to make of it. Sirius tried not to picture what he was seeing, or how it must look to him. Tried just to keep meeting his eyes, from a few feet down, but even so. It was all the same in the end if you knew the language, wasn't it?  
  
"As you like, young Master Black," he said at last; and Sirius allowed himself a smile.  
  
Remus was able to scrounge together two Galleons on his own, and although he didn't ask Sirius and James put together a third between them, with a lot of uncomfortable bluster about paying them back in homework. Remus fussed and fidgeted with the box between his hands all the way out into the street, as though unable to believe it were real, and it actually took Sirius rather by surprise when Remus finally looked up at him, with a frown. "Oh -- wasn't there something you were looking for?"  
  
Sirius shrugged, and slung an arm around each of their shoulders, beaming at the bright sliver of sky visible above the roofs of the shops. He was feeling extremely fine, he discovered, and relished it. It had been an excellent day. "Eh, it's nothing, you can't really buy wands for someone else. Want to go for ice creams? My treat."  
  
\---  
  
The rest of their shopping was finished rapidly, and under Mrs. Potter's supervision, and then they went back to James's house for the evening. James took advantage of the new opportunity to show off his broom again, probably not being nearly as careful as he should have been; but the weather was cooling by now, and they went in before long.  
  
They were all so exhausted by that night that it hardly seemed worth it to do anything but lie around and talk, drowsily, about their second year and what it would be like, and finally James's dad insisted them to bed only when it seemed like they'd never give up and choose it on their own. Remus only managed to lie awake in his makeshift bed on James's parents' sofa, staring at the ceiling and listening to the family photos snoring, long enough to wonder if he should feel guilty about not missing home at all; and then he was asleep, and stayed that way until sunlight touched his face.  
  
\---  
  
It was only at breakfast the next morning that Sirius thought to ask James about Remus's wand, which he'd never actually gotten a look at himself. It didn't seem like a thing you could ask a bloke about directly, somehow.  
  
"Must've been pretty special, yeah?" he said, and then stopped his mouth before it could say anything about the price, even to James. He knew James would keep the secret in an instant, but found himself loath to explain _why_ he'd done something like that in the first place. Even, again, to James. "...I mean, he really had to dig for it."  
  
James perked a bit, still mushing about with the plate of eggs his mum had left him before rushing off in search of socks in peril of abandonment. "Yeah, it was weird, actually. He said it was some sort of funny wand he had trouble moving usually -- full of _werewolf_ bone bits, I've never heard of that, have you?"  
  
Sirius stared at him, then leaned forward on the table. His voice dropped by instinct. "Werewolf bones? ...Are you _sure_?"  
  
"'Course I'm sure. Remus just about threw it a foot when he said it, I don't think he was expecting that either."  
  
Half of Sirius's sausages were still waiting for him, but he wanted them less suddenly; he prodded them with his fork instead of picking one up, staring into his plate. "That's... sort of Dark stuff, isn't it? I mean, my _mum's_ got an amulet with werewolf bone in." He looked up, frowning, to meet James's mild surprise. "Why would Remus match up with a wand like that?"  
  
"Dunno," James said, and although he didn't sound much more concerned than he had before he did look a bit more curious... and then he snorted, and his face cracked wide in a grin. "Maybe Remus's really a Dark wizard, like those ones in the Prophet, eh?"  
  
It took a moment for Sirius's frown to crack -- it _was_ still bothering him -- but finally the image got to him, as well, and he picked up James's snickers like a yawn. "Oh, yeah, I bet that's right," he got out in between them, affecting amazement very badly. "He must work on all his evil plots to take over the world whenever he's done his homework."  
  
"That's why he's so skinny, he keeps using his blood for things," James said, attempting a straight face and also rather failing.  
  
"Fell down the stairs pushing a Muggle down them," Sirius said, and then they both gave up and burst out laughing, hard and loud enough that eventually James's mum poked her head in, shook it, and poked it back out. They had just started to recover a little when Sirius managed to add, whoopingly, "Of course, _Peter's_ the _really_ evil one," and then all was lost again for a while longer.  
  
They still had the giggles on and off by the time Remus came in, bleary and damp-haired, and he glanced across the two of them with a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "What are you two on about?"  
  
"Oi, Remus," Sirius said, attempting to collect himself, as James went to put his plate in the sink and get Remus's from warming on the stove. "We were wondering, are you secretly a Dark wizard planning to take over the world?"  
  
Remus only hesitated for a second, barely missed a beat. "Of course," he said, mildly, taking a seat at the table across from Sirius. "I was wondering when you were going to work it out."  
  
Which of course set them both off again, as much out of delight as anything else. Remus tucked into his breakfast while he was waiting for them to calm down, a small, patient, bemused smile on his lips.  
  
"Well, that's settled then," James said, when he'd recovered, and looped an arm around Remus's shoulders briefly as he sat back down. "Hurry up and eat, Your Infernal Majesty, we'd better go soon."  
  
\---  
  
They met Peter at the platform, weighed down with bags and snacks and looking positively blissful to transfer to their company from that of his mother, who was still hovering nearby with a handkerchief and what appeared to be uncomfortably sharp eyes for all of them. James passed him not only the Dungbombs he'd promised but also a pack of exploding gum, which Peter received with such shining-eyed adoration that Remus would have thought he'd been given the Holy Grail, even when the gum singed Peter's own fingers first thing. They tumbled aboard laughing, chatting, bumping into Slytherins on purpose (well, smaller ones, at any rate) and claiming a compartment all their own. Glancing across some of the first years, Remus thought back on this time last year, and could almost laugh now at how frightened he'd been, how certain it would all be a disaster.  
  
"Was it fun?" Peter was asking James by the time they'd settled themselves, wistfully, and James perked, warming at once to his subject.  
  
"Yeah, brilliant! We went to Quality Quidditch Supplies, I'd never leave there if I could, and Remus got a new wand -- "  
  
"If only I could've got a new brain to match," Remus said with a small smile, trying not to think about it as pre-empting anything else that might be said about his new wand, but it made both Peter and James laugh and Sirius elbow him, not unkindly, so he supposed it was all right for all that.  
  
"I asked my mum, but she said Diagon Alley's dangerous," Peter said, sounding morose again. "Expect she's afraid someone'll tread on my toes and I'll die." This apparently struck James as delicious as well, and his thump on the back mid-laughter made Peter glow. It was actually a bit touching, Remus thought, in a way, although then he was distracted by Sirius's elbowing him again.  
  
"You know what?" Sirius said, and when Remus turned to look at him he had the rather alarming look of a Sirius who believes he has just had a fantastic idea. "You ought to ask McGonagall if you can move over to our side of the dormitory."  
  
Both James and Peter had turned to leap on this before Remus could even get a word out. "Oh, _yeah_!" James said, and the way he'd lit up made it very difficult to even think of arguing. "That'd be fantastic, we could plan stuff a lot easier that way."  
  
Peter was nodding so hard his head might be in danger of falling off. "Right! We could be like, like a _club_!"  
  
"She'll never let me," Remus said, but it came out sounding pretty feeble, and was met in kind.  
  
"Of course she will, she _loves_ you," Sirius said, waving his hand. "Just ask her, eh? I bet you she'll say yes if it's you. Say... you know, that Abercrombie's a giant git and you can't stand him or something."  
  
"Abercrombie _is_ a giant git," James pointed out. "And _I_ can't stand him."  
  
"He's not really so bad," Remus said, but meekly enough that nobody paid much attention -- not that he supposed they would have anyway.  
  
"And it's uneven numbers anyway, there'll be an odd one on one side no matter what," Sirius said. "It can't make any difference which one you're on, right?"  
  
"I don't know..." But he was biting his lip, and Sirius was already giving him that _look_ , that oddly solemn look that Sirius could manage on occasion that made his eyes bottomless and naked and made Remus wonder what on earth was wrong with him as a person, that he was incapable of saying no to someone so obviously a born con artist.  
  
"I'll give it a try," he said at last; it already seemed impossible that he'd have any choice in the matter. "But she's going to say no."  
  
\---  
  
"I don't see why not," Professor McGonagall said, without even looking up from the paperwork she was sorting through. "Provided, of course, that the decision is your own."  
  
"Who else's would it be, ma'am?" Remus asked, trying to sound innocent in spite of the slight sweat. That finally made her look up, her thin lips waiting for some time before becoming a thin smile.  
  
"Whose indeed." She set down the sheaf of papers on her desk and folded her hands on top of them, leveling a long, serious look at him through the glittering squares of her spectacles. "I suppose I might feel more comfortable, Mr. Lupin, if I had some assurance that this change in circumstances would exert a positive influence on Mr. Black and Mr. Potter, rather than a negative one on you yourself."  
  
This felt very much like a trap, and Remus swallowed, he was sure audibly. "...Hard to say?" he tried, after a moment passed without her saying anything more. Professor McGonagall's eyebrow lifted slightly. "I-I mean. ...I'll _try_."  
  
She sighed, even more slightly. "Please do, Mr. Lupin. I'm afraid you may be fast approaching our only hope." He wasn't sure exactly how to respond to that, either, and in the end settled for smiling weakly. She answered it, though, to his surprise, with an unusually warm and genuine one of her own. "You do realize, of course," she said, after another moment's pause, and he glanced back to find a rather more serious expression in her eyes, "that it will likely be more difficult to keep the circumstances of your absences from these boys while sharing living quarters with them?"  
  
It wasn't exactly a thought that had failed to cross his mind. Remus's hands knotted tighter into each other on his knees, and he nodded. "Yes, ma'am."  
  
"But you still want to make the change." He nodded again, not meeting her eyes. He thought she sighed again, although he couldn't be certain. "Are you sure that you wish to introduce more difficulties to your life at Hogwarts, Mr. Lupin? I would have thought you well supplied by now."  
  
That finally did make him look at her, and the look he found there was so kind it made him rather uncomfortable, and cough into his fist. "Er, well... yes, ma'am. But it's just... they're my friends. As well as difficult. Er, I mean." Professor McGonagall now looked perilously close to _laughing_ , although she was holding on admirably, and he tried to push on with a touch of desperation. "It would just..." He looked at his hands, and then up at her again, and with an honesty the awkwardness of which he could feel all down through him, but which was no less for that. "...I'd really be much happier."  
  
Something flickered in her eyes, he was almost sure, but he looked away again before he could identify it -- not actually caring to know which shade of pity. "Then I could scarcely refuse," she said. "I'll speak to the house-elves about having the dormitory rearranged tonight."  
  
But it wasn't until he really noticed, much later, when all the assorted celebrations and excitements had died down enough to let him at last stagger toward sleep, that the extra bed that had been added to the dormitory was next to _Sirius's_ that he really began to count the cost of what he'd let himself be talked into.  
  
\---  
  
Unfortunately, and almost unimaginably, it turned out that James did not share Sirius's newfound opinion that Remus's frequent absences were suspicious and needed to be investigated thoroughly, and preferably with a maximum of collateral causing of trouble.  
  
"You're completely barking," was James's more specific opinion, as he voiced it to the walnut he was practicing for Quidditch with. He'd been more or less insufferable this way since he'd made Seeker; the rest of the common room, most of whom had been hit with the walnut at least once apiece, seemed less enthused than he about the proposition, but James appeared not to have noticed. "Remus couldn't keep a secret if it was chained to his leg."  
  
Sirius scowled at that, for reasons he couldn't entirely quantify other than that he felt certain it was untrue. "Then where do you think he _is_?"  
  
James shrugged, tossing the walnut again and catching it behind his back in a deft move that nevertheless seemed unlikely ever to be practical. "With his sick mum? Like he's said a hundred times? Just a guess, mind you."  
  
"She's not sick!"  
  
"Are you _ever_ going to let that go?" James sat up, sending the walnut for an extraordinary overhead arc that ended up rapping a very unamused-looking sixth year on the skull. "Look, lots of people who're sick don't look it. You, for example. Nobody'd ever guess you're actually a paranoid lunatic, which is what makes you so dangerous and terrifying."  
  
Sirius opted to ignore this. "Well, even so, if she's up and around and making people tea, why's he got to go visit her? And miss school for it, and all?"  
  
"I dunno, if I had a sick relative for an excuse I'd probably run off every chance I got, too."  
  
"No, you wo -- look, put that away, someone's going to lose an eye and most likely it'll be you, the way people're looking at you."  
  
James sighed, but tucked the walnut in the pocket of his discarded outer robes obligingly enough. "Your fault if I get bumped off the team. Not that I will." He flopped out his arms, sprawling out in his armchair now that he no longer needed to keep alert. "I just don't think _Remus_ of all people is trying to put one over on us. Why should he?"  
  
"That's what I don't know yet." Sirius glanced around, then scooted forward a little on the floor, trying to close them into a conspiratorial circle of two. "But have you noticed that he's gone really _regularly_? I mean, there's never been a time when he's just gone home and a couple days later up and has to go again."  
  
"Well, because that would be stupid," James said, not unreasonably. Sirius frowned, making a pyramid of his hands under his chin.  
  
"Yeah, but last year he had to go home almost right after we got here, remember? That seems pretty stupid as well." James shrugged, and Sirius leaned in even closer, trying to fix James with a meaningful look when James seemed very unwilling to be fixed -- a more difficult proposition than he might have guessed. "...It's around every month or so. I'm almost sure. Every month I think about I can think of a couple days when he was gone. I can't think of one where he _wasn't_ ever, can you?"  
  
James didn't answer the question, just looked back at him at last with a quirking mouth. "Well, mate, I think I've figured it out," he said, in a magnanimous sort of tone, and sat up to pat Sirius kindly on the shoulder with a deeply-fetched sigh. "I'm afraid our Remus is becoming a woman."  
  
"Your _arse_ is becoming a woman," Sirius snapped back, intelligently. It still managed to crack James up for long enough to lose Sirius his attention, however, and he sighed and flopped his hands into his lap. "James, come on, I _mean_ it! It's weird! Where is he _going_?"  
  
"Home!" James threw up his own hands. "Look, I don't know what to tell you. I still think you're making a big fuss about nothing." Sirius collapsed back, scowling into his lap, and James ruffled at his own hair. "Why don't you just ask him?"  
  
"Because he won't tell me!"  
  
"What, and I will?" When Sirius was unmoved by this logic, he sighed again. "All right, fine, it is a bit weird. I admit it. And if it'll get you to calm down, I'll keep an eye on him if you want, yeah?"  
  
"Keep an eye on who?" Peter said, from over James's shoulder, making both of them jump a little more than seemed dignified -- Sirius had thought they were keeping their voices down, and he was shaken up enough he was about to snap at Peter for barging in before James cut him off.  
  
"Remus," he said, and Sirius frowned at him, not that James saw; he hadn't been sure he really wanted Peter in on this, but it was too late now, one supposed. "Sirius reckons it's weird, him being gone all the time."  
  
"Oh." Peter came around the armchair to deposit himself on the floor next to Sirius, who inched over, dropping his chin moodily on his propped-up hands. "Well, I expect he's just going to the hospital wing, isn't he?"  
  
Sirius's head jerked back up again, and he and James stared at each other, then both turned on Peter. Peter cringed slightly at the sudden attention, as though to retreat down the neck of his own jumper like a tortoise. "Why would he be in the hospital wing?" Sirius asked after a moment, probably a bit too keenly but unable to care. "Isn't he meant to be visiting his sick mum?"  
  
Peter shrugged, looking equal parts uncomfortable and important. "I dunno... Just, one time when he was out of class last spring, I had a bloody nose and went up to Madam Pomfrey, and he was there. He was sleeping, he looked really ill."  
  
Sirius turned his gaze back toward James, frowning, although James's initial surprise seemed to have given way. "D'you suppose _he's_ ill?" he asked James, who turned back to him blinking.  
  
"What? Instead of his mum?" Sirius nodded, and James shook his head, although with a somewhat more thoughtful look. "I don't know... It seems like he'd have just said so. Maybe he just came down with something that one time, and never made it to see her? Bad timing, like."  
  
"If he goes home, how do you suppose he gets there, anyway?" Peter said, apparently unwilling to be forgotten now that he'd had a taste of being center of attention. "Did he ever say? Do you think they make him a Portkey, or someone Apparates him, or something?"  
  
"I don't know," Sirius said, frowning deeper than ever at the nearest leg of James's chair. "Doesn't talk about it much at all, does he? I mean, for something that gets him into so much trouble with school and all."  
  
"That doesn't _mean_ anything," James said, a final protest; but when Sirius looked back at him, he saw the start of doubt in James's expression. Or at least of curiosity.  
  
"No," Sirius said, and put his chin back down on his hands. "So we'll watch for something that does."  
  
\---  
  
Even so, things might have gone very differently in the end if Sirius hadn't happened to be working on his Astronomy calendar on one of the three days in November that Remus was gone.  
  
It had been at the back of his mind, it had been _constantly_ at the back of his mind, and still he got more than halfway through scribbling in important star positions and constellation movements on the grid of days for December before his quill paused, an inch or two above the parchment. Because something had caught his eye, and he wasn't even entirely sure what, but now he scanned back up the months, and really _looked_. And looked. And looked.  
  
His mind felt blank on the surface suddenly, extremely busy underneath; a disquieting earthquake of words just under his skin and skull and uppermost, quietest thoughts. Monday, yes, it had been Monday night, because they had left class and on the way back Remus had broken off with some excuse, something left behind in the classroom, and then hadn't been at dinner, or come back to the dormitory that night, and he hadn't even had any owls or anything so how would he even _know_ , Peter had said, Peter was rather sharper than he seemed sometimes, at least about how things with ailing mothers ought to go. And it _was_ at _night_ , wasn't it, it must always be actually, Remus never turned up gone one morning, he was always just there until it was about to get dark and then --  
  
Ink spotted from the tip of his quill on the parchment, and he dabbed at it with his finger as though dreaming. His expression felt fixed and foreign.  
  
The first thing he managed to feel was _anger_ : a black, sourceless, meaningless rage that left him completely unable to think or to reason through it, adrift for a moment on its insensate tide. The urge, sudden and strong, took him to just seize the chart in his hands and tear it in half between them, and he fought it down with an effort. It wouldn't help. It wouldn't change anything. He might feel better for a moment, but the certainty would still be there, waiting, when he held nothing but a handful of pieces. It lodged in his mind like a thorn. It was so stubborn and total that for a moment it felt like deja vu: like he must have _known_ , like somehow he must have already known all along. Like he just hadn't been letting himself see.  
  
"James," he said, and it came out sounding flat and dry. "Come look at this."  
  
James glanced up at him from his bed, and started to say something, but however Sirius's expression looked must have stopped him, because instead he just got up and did, leaning on the bedpost to peer over Sirius's shoulder. "Okay, I'm... looking at your Astronomy homework, then?"  
  
Without a word, Sirius touched the tip of his quill (at least no longer dripping) to the round, dark circle drawn by his own hand on the block for this past Monday. James frowned at it, then at him, and Sirius looked back up at him finally. "Remus _left_ on Monday. Monday night, remember?"  
  
"So?" James said, and whatever had frozen on Sirius's face at last managed to crack in favor of a scowl.  
  
" _So?_ " he mimicked back, and at the sound of the _savagery_ of it -- all the teeth he put into that one small word -- he thought they both recoiled a little. Sirius looked back at the parchment again, swallowing more, fighting to recover himself like his balance on a tightrope. "So -- " No, one more try. "So it's the _full moon_. It's got to be."  
  
"That he's gone, you mean?" All the teasing and dismissing had gone out of James's voice now, and Sirius tried to feel guilty instead of viciously pleased. "Are you sure?"  
  
He wasn't, except he was, and then he nodded and found that he definitely was. He tapped the similar small black circle, deep in the belly of October. "Sunday. I don't remember the date exactly but that's about right, and I _know_ it was a Sunday, he was with us all day and then he didn't come to dinner with us. And he missed the start of the week and came back by the end." He nodded, the tension in his brow he hadn't known about clearing as the memories settled into order. "And September -- I don't remember about the day, seems like it was a weekend, but we'd still only been here a few weeks." He scanned even further up -- the calendar was for the whole year, what a _stupid_ assignment, if he could notice _anyone_ could notice -- and found the end of May, not long before the school year had ended, tapped again. "And we went home just a few weeks later. I remember that, too. It didn't make sense."  
  
James was frowning at him, deeply, and swung round the bedpost to the other side. "So what is it you're getting at? You think he's -- got some sort of curse, or disease, or something, only makes you sick at the full moon?"  
  
"I can only think of one disease that only makes you sick at the full moon," Sirius said evenly, staring back up into his face.  
  
They looked at each other for what seemed like a very long time.  
  
"No," James said, finally, and he sounded _relieved_ when he did: a huge, pish-toshing, already forgetting it _no_ , and relieved because he expected as soon as Sirius joined him in it they could stop whatever this was right here. "Can't be, that's _bollocks_."  
  
"It's not," Sirius said, but James kept talking almost before he'd done.  
  
"It _is_. Look -- " He cast around, and Sirius waited. He wasn't in any hurry; it seemed so obvious to him, now that he'd realized it, that if he just gave James his head, he'd surely come around on his own. Or maybe he was hoping James would convince _him_. "Look, he wouldn't be here in the first place! Why would he even have been allowed to come to Hogwarts?"  
  
"Dumbledore," Sirius said at once, without even having been aware he was going to say anything; but once he had, he knew more by the look in James's eyes than his own logic that it was right. "My mum hates him, she's always on about how he's dragging this school into the mud and he'll let just anybody in. What if he _will_? If anyone would it'd be him."  
  
"He couldn't do that, it's dangerous!" The rage flared again, and Sirius fought it; it was smaller now that it had a target, and he found he could. "Look -- Sirius, mate, it's got to be something else, all right? It's just got to. It doesn't make any sense."  
  
It made perfect sense, but Sirius didn't bother saying that. "Something else like what?"  
  
"Maybe..." James bit his lip, and flopped on the bed next to him, long knobby hands laced between his knees. It was a long moment before he suddenly brightened, sitting up straighter. "Maybe it's his _mum_ , eh? Maybe she's, you know -- So he goes home and visits her and takes care of her. He's not lying, he only didn't mention that part, and how could you blame him?"  
  
Sirius frowned; he hadn't considered that, and now he did, although not for long. "Doesn't work," he said. "Peter saw him up in the hospital wing when he was meant to be going home, right?"  
  
"Well -- so that time he got sick and couldn't go. Like I said." James's look was so earnest it was almost pleading; Sirius found he couldn't look back long, and frowned at his hands instead.  
  
"Still doesn't work," he said, finally, and tapped the calendar again. "He leaves the night of the moon. If she's transforming, why would he do that? He'd be no help to her until the next day anyway."  
  
"So he gets some extra travel time."  
  
"I don't think so, why would he need it? Someone can just Apparate him. And it'd be dangerous to have him around in the meantime, wouldn't it? Besides -- " He turned slightly, sitting forward toward James a little, and something in his eyes seemed to make James uncomfortable now. "Remus's mum was _fine_ when we saw her, that was the whole thing that was driving me mad -- and _he_ looked like he'd been trampled by horses. There were bandages in his bedroom! Think about it! All the times he's shown up with his -- elbow dislocated, or scratched up, or -- " James was staring at him now, and not with conviction, and he let himself break off. "If it's one of them, she's not the one who looks most likely, you've got to admit."  
  
"So it's neither!" James's arms exploded upwards on his outburst, then flopped back down to his sides. "None of that means -- "  
  
"James." He seized James's shoulder in his hand, hard, probably too hard. "His _wand._ You told me what was in it. And we couldn't think why, remember? Because it's Remus, and... James, his _wand._ "  
  
For a second there was no change in James's taut, almost angry expression, even then... and then it faded, and his eyes widened with recognition, his mouth falling into a terrible, miserable sag. He seemed to shrink under Sirius's hand, and Sirius's stomach seemed to shrink with him. In a stupid, horrible way, there went both their last hope.  
  
"...oh, _bloody hell_ ," James breathed, at last, and his head dropped so far forward his glasses nearly fell from his nose. "Do you know, I think you're right."  
  
"I know I am," Sirius said; and felt sick at once with knowing that he was telling the truth.  
  
The silence that followed was unpleasant: the silence that fills the space after something has happened very quickly, something that can't be undone. James pushed his glasses back up his nose. "Do you suppose... he's safe, you know?" His voice was much subdued. "I mean, to be around? If he -- "  
  
" _James._ " Sirius's mouth was so numb the word came out clumsy and flailing. But as sharpened on every edge as his mocking _So?_ of a moment ago, and James jumped and stared at him, half-guiltily. Sirius stared back. " _Don't,_ " he said, with James's full attention. "Don't _ever_."  
  
"Sorry," James muttered, not sounding it much but not about to say anything else. "It's just... you know." Sirius opened his mouth to snap again, and then just closed it, scrubbing the heel of his fist wearily between his eyes. No, he couldn't even muster the indignance. He did know. He knew perfectly well. "What are we going to do, d'you reckon?"  
  
"Don't tell Peter," Sirius said immediately, without thinking about it. If he had, he might have known better, but then James was turning to look at him, frowning, and the point was already made.  
  
"What? Why?"  
  
"Just don't. Not yet." James kept frowning, and Sirius frowned back, looking at his knees instead. "I don't trust him. He'll panic."  
  
James's mouth curled back to a disbelieving sneer. "Oh, and you're not panicking?"  
  
"Not the same thing." Sirius rubbed his eyes. He just felt so tired suddenly, and with an odd, premonitory flash: was this what it was like all the time, being grown up? Did you just have to think these things until they burnt all the way through you and made you old? "Look, I won't have him making a mess of this, all right? Or -- _telling_ someone, hell. This is really dangerous. Remus could be in trouble."  
  
"I _know_ , but --" James sighed, flopping back on his hands braced behind him. "He's got to know sometime. We all live in the same bloody room." Sirius frowned but didn't disagree, and eventually James sat forward again. "...Let me talk to him, I'll explain. You'd just scare him."  
  
"...Fine." He had no energy to argue anyway, and he supposed it did make sense. He just kept picturing... if _James_ had reacted with automatic unease ( _do you suppose he's safe?_ ), what would _Peter's_ face look like, in the first few seconds after hearing what he had been living with? Peter liked Remus all right, but Peter was a coward -- Sirius had accepted this more or less at face value by now, all arguments by the Hat to the contrary aside -- and more importantly than that, Peter was oddly _conventional_ in a lot of ways, especially next to the rest of them. Peter might, in the end, be less concerned about the physical danger of having Remus in their midst, and more with the moral danger: the whys and wherefores of what his mother might say. Would there be a stiffness in his back for Remus to notice, a fearful scuttling in his eyes that would keep them from quite making contact? He didn't know if he could condemn someone he _hated_ to years of putting up with that in his dormitory, although he was sure he'd probably try if given the chance.  
  
 _Remus. Bloody hell, Remus, I'm sorry. How many times has it happened already?_  
  
"You know what the other thing is," Sirius said after a moment, and James glanced at him again, forehead creased. He took a deep breath, trying to sound strong, and as old as he felt right now. "We're going to have to tell Remus we know."  
  
\---  
  
Peter loved James Potter as deeply and as sincerely as any unhappy, pudgy boy had ever loved a more popular, handsome, and obnoxious one: which is to say, very, but in a manner shot through with so many complicating threads of shadow that at times it might instead have seemed to the outside observer very shallow indeed. But James was funny; James was brilliant; James had excellent ideas for trouble and the canny quickness to pull them off; and perhaps best of all, in an equally troubled and not consistently obvious way, James was kind. Peter's mother, who had had arthritis since she was thirty and kept two elderly, depressed cats she had painstakingly enspelled to be patterned like doilies, had spent his entire young life telling her only son that he was very fragile, that he was not very bright, that he needed someone to look after him and prevent him from harm at all times, and in the absence of any conflicting evidence Peter had always believed her. But when he was around James, when James was talking to him on and on because Peter would listen or including him on some errand Peter was too excited to find tedious, suspicion grew soaring wings in his chest: that he was _not_ fragile, that he wasn't even all that stupid, that it was possible that he could have unsuspected bravery and cunning planted deep under the uncooperative pudginess of his body, like mineral deposits deep underground. The possibility was shocking, even rather frightening, but liberating as well. And for that alone, he could have loved James Potter.  
  
He had come home from school his first year bursting with glory, wanting a broomstick and to wear jeans and to take out, fold, and display his small stained selection of Gryffindor ties on the desk in his room several times a day. His mother immediately vetoed the broomstick, compromised on the jeans, and made it plain that she had no notion at all why her old house Hufflepuff was not good enough for her son, but Peter was undeterred. He tried to rumple up his own hair periodically, but given its wispy fineness this ended very quickly in an ignoble Van de Graaffian situation, and he gave it up before long. He practiced telling people exactly what he thought of them and a few things he didn't and damning the consequences, although of course not out loud.  
  
Like Remus had about Sirius, however, Peter had also realized that whatever was good in James, it could be less good when Sirius was present. They each corrupted the other with his desire to impress the first, and one could not be trusted in the other's company; this he recognized on some deep, instinctual level long before words, well beyond rational thought. Unlike Remus, though, Peter blamed Sirius almost entirely. He didn't honestly think, in his most private mental spaces, that he liked Sirius very much; Sirius seemed to him less like a friend and more like his mother's cats, something ill-tempered, unpredictable, and prone to fits of bizarre clawing fury on every third approach -- and yet necessary to be tolerated, in order to enter the presence of someone beloved. He admired Sirius, from a rather nervous distance, and was certainly impressed with him, but he didn't really like Sirius. In point of fact he had begun to suspect no one really did, and anyone who seemed to was just putting on a show. After all, who would admit it?  
  
And if he didn't like Sirius, he liked even less that Sirius trailed behind him an inexplicable and rather uncomfortable affection for Remus Lupin -- who not only did not seem very funny, brilliant, troublemaking, or special in any identifiable way to Peter, but now...  
  
"Are you sure?" he asked, and tried not to squeak. James was still looking at him in that funny, grave way, and he wondered if you could feel when you'd gone pale. Did it make you feel thin like this, like a piece of glass somebody could look through?  
  
"It's the only thing that makes sense," James said. Peter couldn't help darting his eyes to Sirius, behind them, but Sirius still wasn't saying anything; he was just leaning on the dormitory window, staring out at the grey rainy day outside with his knee propped up on the sill, apparently ignoring them both. Still, he managed to carry with him the certainty, in Peter's mind, that it was not safe to speak freely. "He's got to be managing it somehow, but we can't think what else it could be, either."  
  
Peter nodded, in what he hoped was an adult, considering fashion. He stared at his hands, white-knuckled on his knees. "...Oh." He bit his lip for several long moments before finally daring: "Is it -- "  
  
"What?" Sirius's voice made him jump and both of them turn, but he wasn't even looking yet -- still just staring out the window for another second, before snapping his head round to glare at Peter with contempt he couldn't mistake. He cringed away from it, dropping his eyes, miserably. "Is it _safe_? Is that what you were going to say? Is it _safe_ , sleeping in the same room with the scary monster?" He came away from the window a step or two, savage high-pitched mockery in every other sentence. "Has Remus bitten you lately, Peter?"  
  
"Oh, shut up, Sirius, I said the same thing and you know it," James snapped, and Peter cut his eyes to him, fast. Surprised, grateful, and grateful to be surprised. "And you probably thought it too when you worked it out, come to that."  
  
" _I_ didn't," Sirius said in undertone, to the window again. James sighed, so hard Peter could feel the force of it through the bed.  
  
"Well, that's because you're barking," he said, "it's nothing to be proud of," and this time Peter caught the tone and its meaning, in one slow dawning realization. James was angry because James was embarrassed, and James was embarrassed because in this, Sirius had shown him up: James had been scared, might be scared still. The thought gave Peter a sudden, soaring lift, hefting the weight of misery off his middle, and in its absence he found he could catch his breath and steady himself. James had been scared too. He wasn't such a coward.  
  
And glancing at the side of Sirius's face, staring tight-browed out at the rain, he found the comfort joined by something equally galvanizing: a sudden bright spark of resentment. _If it was_ me _, you wouldn't care,_ he thought in Sirius's direction, even that much seeming daring just now. _Even if you weren't scared, you wouldn't get cross like this, or try to help. You'd make jokes and buy me flea collars, and tell everybody when you got bored. If it was me, you wouldn't care. What makes him so special?_  
  
But that only made him think about what it would be like, if it _were_ him, and what it must be like for Remus. And that was almost enough to make him sorry.  
  
"What do we do?" he asked James. James chewed his lip, flopping back on one elbow on the bed.  
  
"Sirius and I reckon we've got to tell him," he said, after a moment. "I mean, we all room together, he ought to know he hasn't got to hide it from us, and, you know, we're all right with it and maybe we can help. And that we're not going to tell anyone."  
  
"All right," Peter said, as fast as possible -- not necessarily because it was, but because it would keep Sirius from jumping in with some other furious instruction or comment. He glanced between the two of them, and then finally added, meekly, "What... do you reckon he'll say?"  
  
That seemed to catch James off guard; he paused with his mouth already open to speak, shut it again, and then finally gave a rather half-hearted wave of dismissal. "It'll be fine," he said, with an equally unconvincing air of confidence. "Don't worry."  
  
\---  
  
And even in spite of all that, later, Peter still thought that if it had been any of them, he would have expected it to be James. Sirius was charming, but much more capable of cruelty, and much less likely to waste time making friends with people; it was James who could have anyone laughing along, even with a trick he'd just played on them. It was James who was likeable, who was good with people, in his way, Peter would have said: who was so sure of his own brilliance and amazingness that he just somehow managed to convince everyone else of it, too. He would have thought James would know what to do.  
  
When Remus came back to the dormitory, to the rest of them pointedly trying not to wait for him, at first none of them said or did anything. Remus went to his bed, greeting them all with a soft nonchalance that only now did seem a bit forced -- only now just called attention to the snarl of fresh red cut that peeked its way up from under his collar and hid under the ends of his hair. Remus fussed among his books, and Peter glanced at Sirius and James, and found them both looking at each other, meaningfully. His heart seemed to squeeze, and he quickly ducked his head back down, back into the Quidditch magazine James had lent him. He'd already read it through some six times, and now was possibly holding it the wrong way around, but his eyes wouldn't focus anyway. And he still almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of Sirius closing the door.  
  
Remus glanced up, frowning, his arm half-loaded with schoolwork and a quill in his mouth. Sirius looked at the door with an expression that was almost apologetic, then came away toward Remus's bed, closing by a few steps. "Remus, er -- can we talk to you about something?"  
  
That made Remus glance across all of them, and as much as Peter tried to avoid his eyes, he saw enough to catch the look in them. Surprised, a little amused -- but there was a wariness under that too, wasn't there? A caution.  
  
"Does somebody need frogspawn in their soup?" he asked, after taking the quill out of his mouth, and the same odd note haunted his voice, too. James laughed, but even Peter could see that his eyes stayed mostly serious. Remus did too; he halted completely when he met them, at last.  
  
"Probably, but that's not it," James said. He got up and came over to the end of Remus's bed as well, and Peter took that as his cue to follow, hovering behind James's shoulder, and so Remus set his books down on his bed and sat obligingly next to them. Ready, and calm, but somehow poised. Sirius actually sat down on the bed beside Remus when he did. All of this just made him look more openly nervous than ever, but who could blame him? "It's, er..."  
  
James and Sirius glanced at each other, each looking at a loss for all their instant communication. Finally James just made a helpless gesture with one hand. "We just -- wanted to tell you... we know," he said. "Well, Sirius figured it out, but -- we all do. Know. I mean."  
  
One glance was enough to give Peter the first warning bell: that this was not even beginning to go as planned. Remus no longer looked calm. Remus had frozen. His eyes had stopped scanning them all, warily: now they were _fixed_ , locked on James. Which James seemed less than comfortable with. Every muscle of Remus's body looked wound past its breaking point, like a guitar-string tuned too tight and then tighter: quivering on the snapping point.  
  
"Know what?" he said. His voice was very quiet, as though it were failing him.  
  
It was Sirius who finally said it -- which was actually not what surprised Peter at all. Someone had to eventually, and it might as well have been him.  
  
"That you're a werewolf," he said.  
  
Peter didn't know exactly what they'd been expecting -- but it definitely hadn't been for Remus to run for it.  
  
So much so that he almost made it. Sirius was closest, though, and managed to grab him before he could get much more than up off the bed, pulling him back down. Remus _shoved_ at him, hard -- Peter had never in his life seen Remus shove anyone before; he didn't think Remus had ever so much as _glared_ in front of him -- and managed to land one solid elbow in Sirius's chest and try again, but Sirius was able to hold on and keep him down. And then the room -- spun out in such quiet, breathless tension only seconds ago -- had exploded into sudden chaos. Peter and James both trying to say something stupid and useless at once, Sirius shocked and soothing in a desperate half-shout ("Remus, it's _okay_! Remus!") while he used his hold to pin Remus's arms clumsily to his sides, and Remus -- Remus trying to _fight_ Sirius, flailing and thrashing out at him, his breath coming in small whining unconscious cries and teeth revealed in a terrified snarl, _Remus_ , calm, sensible, unimpressive Remus, looking more panicked and mortally frightened than Peter thought he had ever seen another person. The _sounds_ , he was nearly _screaming_ , like a dying thing -- if someone was anywhere near the room, they would _hear_ \--  
  
Sirius, the only one of them within the range of the sudden animal maelstrom that was Remus, was the only one who _could_ act, and he did. His arms still clamping Remus, he brought up his hand to Remus's mouth, and at first Peter thought he was only covering it. By the time he saw it, by the time even _James_ saw it, it was already too late to stop it, too late for even James to do anything but take a useless, abortive half-step forward with one hand twitching out, his mouth almost shaping something -- But too late. Sirius had pressed two of his fingers _inside_ Remus's clenching mouth, between Remus's clenching _teeth_ , with brisk and dizzying authority. Giving him something to bite down on. And Remus, panicking past thought, _bit_.  
  
Peter couldn't see if Remus had broken skin, and to be honest, he looked away almost at once so that he wouldn't gain an unexpected view. He didn't _want_ to see, didn't want to know. If he didn't have to see he could believe whatever he wanted.  
  
And then, just Remus, thrashing and muffled in the terrible sounds of his breath; just Sirius, holding him, hand shoved in his mouth; just Peter and James, watching, staring, unable to believe how _fast_ everything had gone so bizarrely wrong.  
  
And he would have thought it would be James, who fixed it; James, who corrected the sudden and cataclysmic misstep this perfectly okay and easy-sounding task had taken. James who made everything all right. But James gave up trying to help almost as soon as Peter did, standing helpless and ashy under his glasses, in silence, and when Peter was about to despair of anything being okay ever again -- all the possibility of okayness in the world, destroyed in a few short careless seconds, and who knew how _easy_ it could be? -- it was _Sirius_ who handled it. Who handled everything.  
  
"Remus," he said again, loud enough to be clearly audible but sounding entirely, forcibly calm, once he had Remus's mouth secured. "Remus, it's _okay_. Calm down." Remus's head whipped side-to-side, either in negation or in sheer impossibility, and Sirius leaned his head forward with sudden authority and braced it still on his pressing forehead. "Remus, shhh. Shhh. It's okay. But you need to breathe, all right? Can you breathe?" Remus knocked his head against Sirius's, but this time it looked a bit more like an actual _no_. He was utterly white, his eyes so huge with terror the white could be seen all round their irises, his teeth clenched in Sirius's fingers. Sirius firmed his grip, and Peter was stunned again by the calm, _adult_ authority in his voice. A day for odd behavior, some extremely distant, absurd, clowning bit of his mind seemed to note. "Listen to me. Listen to me breathing, Remus. Are you listening, can you hear me breathing?" As punctuation, he took a long, slow breath, let it out again with only a small hitch when Remus's whole body twitched and shuddered into his side. "Remus, can you hear me breathing?"  
  
And this time, somehow, Remus managed a small, fast nod.  
  
"All right. Listen to me, and breathe when I breathe. Can you do that? Just listen when I breathe, and breathe when I breathe. Do it, Remus, come on." He inhaled, hard, exhaled, harder. Inhaled again. "Come on, Remus, breathe. Same time I do. I've got you."  
  
Sirius inhaled again, and exhaled again, loud enough that they could _all_ hear. And Peter -- still hovering like an idiot beside James, feeling tiny and invisible, feeling huge and obvious and gaping like a fish, most of all feeling impossibly young and stupid -- was not quite amazed to see Remus's chest begin to lift and fall. At first much too fast, as twitchingly as the rest of him, like the sides of a tiny terrified animal; but slowly, moment after moment, lengthening and easing, smoothing out to match Sirius's clear, steady breaths. Following him, and then matching him.  
  
It would be years before Peter ever heard about Sirius's father, his madness and alternating fits of panic and vagueness; years even after that before he thought to make the connection, between that and how even at twelve, even all relatively new to each other, it had been Sirius and not James who had known exactly what to do. When it finally came, he would find the knowledge comforting -- if for no other reason than simply knowing that there _was_ the knowledge to be had, that there was an answer. That the universe was not necessarily as deeply disorganized as all that.  
  
But now Remus was just collapsing in the circle of Sirius's restraining arms, his face pressing into Sirius's shoulder, and he might or might not have started to cry, and to Peter it just seemed best to look at something else for a while.  
  
\---  
  
"Dumbledore told me I couldn't tell anyone," Remus confessed, finally, when he'd wiped his face several times and regained his composure enough that Sirius could retreat to just an arm draped around his shoulders. Not the one, of course, he'd shoved the hand of between Remus's teeth; Remus didn't even seem to have registered that, even now, and Sirius was doing his best to keep that hand hidden. He hadn't bled, but he felt sure Remus would still panic all over again just at the sight of the ring of purple-red toothmarks. Peter and James had ended up sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, both still looking impossibly awkward. From something like a hundred years away, Sirius could almost feel badly for them. "He said... um. Just that it could get me in a lot of trouble, and -- wizards don't really care much for, for."  
  
"Werewolves," Sirius supplied in a murmur. Remus seemed not to want to say it, but he felt it needed to be said. Remus only nodded, biting his lip and twisting up a tissue between his hands. "Well... yeah, that's right, but -- we're your _friends_."  
  
Remus glanced back over his shoulder at Sirius, with a slight, wan smile. He looked exhausted, dark circles having drawn themselves somehow under his eyes in such a short time. "I expect that's why he said 'not even your friends.'"  
  
"We just wanted to help," James said. For his part, all of this had rendered the sound of him utterly un-James-like: humbled, guilty, slightly plaintive. "You know, to tell you you didn't have to hide it, and we still like you, and all."  
  
"I'm sorry," Remus said very softly, tugging at the tissue. "I didn't... I'm really sorry."  
  
Sirius shook his head, not minding that Remus could more feel than see it. " _I'm_ sorry we scared you," he said. "It was _stupid_. We should have been more careful." James frowned at him, looking a little helpless, but he ignored it. James hadn't felt Remus's bony shoulders shaking as though with an earthquake, or the high-speed wheezing rasp of his hyperventilating. Sirius's own hands kept struggling to shake; he kept wanting to shut himself in the bathroom and punch the walls until he bled. _Stupid._  
  
Remus answered again with that faint smile, and let his weight rest a little more heavily on Sirius -- probably not enough so that anyone but Sirius could tell. "It's all right. I'm just... I'm a little tired. And you, well. Surprised me."  
  
"What do you do?" Peter asked in a soft, respectful voice that made Sirius glance at him, frowning his surprise. Peter wasn't exactly a country he was expecting to hear from; he would have thought Peter would be too terrified to move well into next week, but now that the storm had passed he seemed to have his balance more than any of them. At least enough to be interested, which did seem to be Peter's restive state. "I mean -- where do you go? When you change?"  
  
"Do you know the Shrieking Shack?" Remus said. His voice was actually blurry from exhaustion, but he didn't seem bothered by the question, and finally Sirius bit off his protest. "In Hogsmeade?"  
  
James was frowning now, sitting forward. "Yeah -- it's meant to be _really_ bloody haunted. Bunch of mad ghosts moved in just lately, and -- what?"  
  
"It's not," Remus said, after shaking his head. "It's me."  
  
There was a brief, thoughtful pause, which somehow managed to turn impressed without anyone saying a word.  
  
"What, nobody notices it only happens at the full moon?" Sirius demanded a moment later. Remus shook his head, and James snorted.  
  
"You're the only one obsessed enough to notice something like that," he said -- and incredibly, he was grinning again. Sirius tried to be angry all over again -- how was this the _time_? -- and finally found himself just grinning back instead, a bit uneasily but still with all conviction. If this wasn't the time, when would it ever be again?  
  
"Just because _I_ can actually count to twenty-eight," Sirius returned, and then belatedly noticed the most incredible thing of all: _Remus_ was _laughing_. A bit weakly, maybe, but there it was.  
  
"I can't believe we're talking about this," was all he could say, when they stopped to wait for him, his shaky hand spanned out over his eyes. Sirius rubbed his far shoulder, tentatively, and he leaned into it. "I mean... I'm glad. Actually, I'm glad." He looked up, and around at all of them with a dawning tired good humour. It made him look, Sirius thought, almost painfully old: by far more a shadow of the man he would be at thirty-two than the boy he was at twelve. "I've never... really talked to anyone about it, much."  
  
"Your parents?" Sirius asked in a lower voice, and Remus bit his lip and then smiled a little too quickly.  
  
"They'd rather not, most of the time."  
  
"How do you get to the Shack?" Peter persisted, and Remus took another swift wipe at his own face before answering.  
  
"Well. The Whomping Willow, they, er, planted it because of me. There's a passage under it, all I have to do is -- "  
  
"Hold on," Sirius interrupted, unable to help himself; something of the ordinary had just come back through a glance between him and James as Remus was talking, and he thought he might actually be able to feel excited about something again. "There's a _secret passage_ to Hogsmeade? Under that mad tree that tries to murder people?"  
  
Remus had interpreted his response correctly, however, unfortunately; he had pulled himself upright to look at Sirius, and his eyes were wide and alarmed. "Don't follow me, Sirius," he said, the drowsiness banished from his voice by shaky earnest. "Don't even think about it, _ever_. This isn't a prank, it's really, really dangerous. I could _hurt_ you." He glanced across Peter and James, although neither of them seemed inclined to argue. "Any of you. Please."  
  
"I won't," Sirius said, a little more subdued. "I promise. Just curious."  
  
Remus hesitated, then smiled, a bit wanly again. "Also, I think if you all started sneaking out of school grounds by the Shrieking Shack, Dumbledore might know who told you how," he said, although with as much amusement as reproach.  
  
"So we don't get caught," James said at once, and then both he and Sirius broke into laughter at Remus's expression. "Oh, come on, you'll tell Sirius eventually anyway."  
  
For whatever reason, Remus pinkened at that, and ducked his head down to avoid all of them. "There's a knot in the trunk you can press, and make the tree stop moving," he admitted, at last. "I'll show you, but only if you _promise_ not to tell anyone else about it. Or use it if you can help it at all."  
  
"It's a deal," Sirius said, managing to grin at both Remus and James at once. "And -- you know, I reckon I don't even have to say this, but -- we'll never, ever tell anyone the other bit, either. About you being a werewolf, I mean. It'll be our secret for life." He looked at James and Peter for punctuation, so fiercely Peter actually leaned away from him slightly in alarm. "Promise."  
  
"I promise," James echoed, in such a softer, more serious tone than usual that it was scarcely recognizable. Peter glanced from him to Sirius, biting his lip with his brow furrowed with worry, but then it cleared as he nodded.  
  
"I promise too."  
  
Remus looked at all of them in turn, slowly, with an expression that even Sirius couldn't read when it turned his way. Finally he dropped his gaze down to his lap, looking at none of them. His hands seemed to shake for a second, and then knotted together.  
  
"Thank you," he said, softly. "You're all... I..." His voice faded out, and he swallowed hard. "Thank you."  
  
And that, it seemed, was that.  
  
Five minutes later, they managed to be talking about something else entirely, bantering and laughing quietly as though nothing had ever happened; five minutes after that Remus had fallen dead asleep on Sirius's shoulder, and James and Peter had to go on ahead and sneak back up food when he couldn't even be woken to go to dinner.  
  
\---  
  
Remus woke up in mostly-darkness; a bit of light from outside was still splashed across the ceiling overhead, but the curtains around his bed were closed, the lights dim around where he lay. There was something warm and heavy and sort of bony wrapped around him, cutting off circulation to one of his arms; through a lot of blinking and listening to the sound of breathing and heartbeats in his warmly pillowed ear, he finally came to the murky, confused conclusion that it might be Sirius.  
  
He could feel his face go hot in the darkness, as that thought's implications woke him all the way up, and his own heartbeat must have stepped up to nearly doubletime. All of which was very bad in and of itself, but made only triply so when, as a result of some part of it, Sirius stirred.  
  
"Are you awake?" his voice murmured, through a faint yawn. Remus shut his eyes, struggling to get some sort of proper control of himself, and nodded. His hair made a staticky mess of itself against Sirius's chest. A hand fell to clumsily pat his shoulder, and Sirius yawned again. "Nm. Think I dozed off too. You missed dinner."  
  
"It's okay," Remus half-whispered into Sirius's shirt. His breath had made it warm, which made him wonder if he'd also _drooled_ on it, a thought that he regretted instantly. "I was tired."  
  
Sirius's laugh was soft, almost a whisper itself in the circle of the curtains. "You reckon?" His hand on Remus's shoulder smoothed down his shirt, absently. Remus's eyes had adjusted, and when he glanced up now he could see just the faint line of Sirius's profile, caught in the light. He looked puffy and half-awake, but more serious than Remus would have expected. "...Remus?"  
  
"Mm?" He struggled to pull himself up a little, but ended up too tired, just submitting to the weight of Sirius's arms. "What?"  
  
"You really thought we would hurt you?" Sirius asked, so low he could barely be heard. He no longer sounded very sleepy. "...You really thought _I_ would hurt you?"  
  
Remus's breath caught, slightly, in his chest. His first, stupid thought wouldn't be banished before it could fully form: _I didn't just dream it, then._ "I didn't know," he said after long, silent moments, barely a whisper. His cheek still on Sirius's chest, unable to fully believe such a thing could be real. Maybe it wasn't; maybe he was dreaming now. "I'm... I'm sorry."  
  
"It's okay," Sirius said, too quickly, his voice a little too scoffing. "I know. Just -- " He hesitated. The sound of his breathing was soft and even. "I wouldn't. I mean -- ever."  
  
"I know," Remus whispered, and didn't add: _Now._ He could hear the soft slither of Sirius's hair on the pillow, though, better than he could see the nod. He could hear Sirius hesitating, as well, and he waited for the next question -- whatever it might be.  
  
"How long?" was, however, not the one he had expected; and finally he _did_ sit up, blinking, next to Sirius. They could see each other like this, at least, Sirius's features dim and slightly taut. "I mean, when did you, ah -- "  
  
"Get bitten?" Remus finished for him, softly. He meant it to be ironic and casual, but it came out more of a gentle tease, and he found he actually liked it better that way. The side of Sirius's mouth curled, into something not quite a smile.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"When I was six," Remus said, looking at his hands. It made it easier to pretend not to hear Sirius's hiss, at least. "...I don't know what happened, exactly. I thought I did -- my mum and dad said it was just an accident, and the, the other wolf was killed right after -- but I think they might not have been telling me the truth." He half-smiled, thinly, knitting and unknitting his fingers on his crossed shins. "But I haven't felt much like asking."  
  
"Yeah," Sirius said softly -- with that depth of emotion in his voice, again, that Remus never heard from him with anyone else. He honestly didn't know whether to feel privileged or not; likely most people didn't _want_ their stomachs wobbling around like this. "You don't remember?"  
  
Remus shook his head. "I'd rather not, really." He rubbed at his left shoulder, absently: where the marks of the wolf's jaws had marked him, long before he had started getting big enough to leave marks of his own on his skin. "I know it hurt a lot, and I have a scar. That's really all."  
  
And again he felt Sirius hesitating -- and again what came was somehow nothing like what he might have expected.  
  
"Can I see?" Sirius asked, softly, after a space of what seemed like long minutes. Remus looked at him fast, and surprised an odd expression on his face: after all his strange adultness of this afternoon, a curiously boyish look again. Wanting to know what he wasn't sure he _did_ want to know, just for its own sake. When Remus looked at him too long, though, he dropped his eyes away, looking off into the dark. "I mean, you don't have to. I don't want to make -- "  
  
"It's all right," Remus cut across him, and was relieved to hear himself sound calmer than he felt. He cleared his throat a bit, and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, and then the top half of its buttons, wriggling his arm out of the sleeve to bare his shoulder.  
  
Fortunately, for once, taking his shirt half-off with Sirius watching him introduced enough stomach-exercising complications to the situation to distract him from what he was actually doing. The scar was _awful_ , he knew perfectly well; he would have kept it hidden even had the potential for its raising difficult questions not been so high. His shoulder had been small enough at the time for the werewolf to clamp its jaws fully around it, so that its teeth had left a jagged twist of purplish marks in a rough curve around the front of his shoulder, and a matching, snaggling arc down the back. It had faded as he had gotten older and larger, and the old punctures begun to whiten and stretch and break up, but not enough. Never enough.  
  
With the scar exposed, he let Sirius see the front for a few seconds, looking down, and then could no longer stand to watch, even peripherally; he turned his back, showing the other side. He heard the soft rustle behind him, after a moment, and felt the bed shift -- but the four warm points of Sirius's fingers, lighting on the skin and scar tissue, still startled him so badly he nearly toppled off the bed.  
  
"Sorry," Sirius was already saying in a sheepish half-whisper, by the time Remus collected himself again. "Do you mind, though?"  
  
... _Mind_ wasn't exactly the word, but he didn't relish the thought of explaining to Sirius why he'd prefer he didn't do that, either, so he just shook his head with his back still turned. "It's okay," he whispered, and closed his eyes even before Sirius touched it again. His fingers were impossibly light, delicate even, bed-warm against the faint coolness of the room. This time -- for one of the first times in Remus's young life, at least to this degree -- it was not just his stomach that responded by behaving strangely. He squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing hard, and tried to hold his entire body absolutely still, hoping that might calm it.  
  
"I know, it's really ugly," he finally burst out in a shaky whisper, when he couldn't stand the silence anymore. Sirius rested his hand in place, his fingers splayed out like a fan.  
  
"Not really," he said, after a beat of pause. "I mean, it looks like it hurt, obviously, that's bad, but... it looks sort of cool."  
  
Remus tried to glance over his shoulder at Sirius, startled into it by his amusement. Sirius let the scar go, though, and leaned in to meet him instead, wrapping Remus from behind in another sudden hug. He was too surprised at first to shrug back into his shirt-sleeve in preparation, and then it was too late. ...Well, it wouldn't be the most embarrassing thing that had happened to him today.  
  
"So, if it happened when you were a little kid," Sirius murmured, propping his chin on Remus's shoulder. (His _bare_ shoulder. Why did he keep letting himself notice things like that?) "Does that mean, at first, you, you know..." There was an odd tension in his chest as he paused, a hitch in his breath, which made Remus frown at first: taking it for pity or even fear, possibly even a precursor to tears. At least, until at last Sirius burst out: "Turned into a _puppy_?"  
  
Remus gaped into the darkened bed-curtains, completely at a loss for words.  
  
"Because that must have been _really_ cute," Sirius said, and _now_ Remus could hear the strain in his voice for what it was: barely suppressed hilarity. Not that he was even yet able to react -- and not that Sirius seemed to mind. "'Course, it's probably just as well I didn't know you then, you know me." He snaked his arm out past Remus's shoulders, miming a tickling gesture at some imaginary animal, his voice piping up to a high-pitched (although still quiet) simper. "Awww, oo's a good boy, then? Oo's a -- _ouch_." He twitched back his hand from the equally imaginary bite. "And it'd be all over already."  
  
"I'm not talking to you anymore," Remus said, with what he considered great dignity, considering he was barely keeping from bursting out laughing himself. The snickers finally escaped Sirius, for his part, shaking his chest against Remus's back.  
  
"Oh, right, so sorry. You're very dangerous. Deeply terrifying." He paused, and though rolling his eyes Remus could only wait for it. "...Spot."  
  
" _Never_ talking to you _again_ ," Remus elucidated, although the effect was somewhat marred by his own smothered laughter. Sirius tilted his head, dragging Remus back into his chest.  
  
"Rover?"  
  
"I hope you enjoyed being friends with me while it lasted -- "  
  
And then Sirius was just hugging him round his middle, and laughing; and somehow the impossible had become possible, and he was laughing too.  
  
"You're horrible and I hate you," he managed at last, his shoulders still shaking with his weight resting against Sirius. His eyes had slipped closed again somehow, in the meantime, and it was oddly and unexpectedly peaceful, leaning back on Sirius like this, against the pillows. Sirius just fought his own laughter for breath, hanging on.  
  
"Too bad, I like you," was all he said in answer, and then -- on apparent impulse -- dropped his head to plant a small smacking kiss on the top of Remus's hair. It was utterly silly at least, vaguely parental at most, and _still_ managed to dry up Remus's laughter very suddenly in his throat. "Are you still tired?"  
  
Remus tried to swallow without Sirius hearing him, started to say _No,_ and then realized that he was lying. "I think so," he admitted. Sirius settled his weight the rest of the way back, stretching them both back out on the bed in a slow-motion tumble of knees and elbows and heads.  
  
"Okay," he said, patting Remus's shoulder, with only one more small snerk of his laughter repeating on him. "I'll let you go back to sleep." Remus nodded, where his head had fallen on Sirius's upper arm, trying not to feel reluctant. He _was_ exhausted; the moon had been hard enough even before he'd come back from it. "G'night, Remus."  
  
Remus nodded again. It occurred to him at last to point out that Sirius was still in his bed, and that it might be best for him not to be there anymore; but in the end he could summon absolutely no feeling that this was actually true, and just closed his mouth again on the words. "Good night," was all he whispered, instead.  
  
But Sirius's breath and heartbeat fell even again long before his own body would even begin to think of sleep.  
  
He lay in the darkness, Sirius's arm loosely strewn around him, Sirius's shoulder for a hard, lumpy pillow. The bed was almost too small for both of them, and on a relative scale, he supposed they weren't even that large themselves. The blankets were a mess, he was still dressed down to his shoes, Sirius's shirt probably wrinkled beyond all repair. He wasn't remotely comfortable. He wanted to stay like this forever. Actually, he thought after forever he might just be getting started.  
  
 _I am in love with Sirius Black,_ Remus thought, quite calmly and clearly. The words surfaced in his mind as distinctly as though he had spoken them aloud.  
  
He had had the half-formed thought, when he finally admitted it to himself, that he would be able to dismiss it just as easily: shake it off and laugh his way away. He had thought it would sound melodramatic, girlish, foolish. Twelve-year-old boys didn't fall in love with anybody, let alone other twelve-year-old boys. But it sounded nothing like that. It sounded, he was both dismayed and somehow giddy to find, perfectly sane, rational, and true. As though he had said to himself now, _I am a wizard,_ or even, _I am a werewolf._ None of it entirely welcome, perhaps, but none of it foolishness or melodrama, either. Only the truth. Only facing the truth at last.  
  
 _I am in love with Sirius Black, and I think I probably will be for the rest of my life._  
  
He rested his head back on Sirius's uncomfortable arm, and closed his eyes. The sound of Sirius's heartbeat was loud in his ear. Eventually, he fell back into sleep like that, not quite happy.  
  
But nearly.  
  
\---  
  
Sirius spent the better part of the next few months doing something he had never done before, and doubted he would have occasion to do -- at least with such enthusiasm -- ever again: taking books out of the library, and reading them. The new strangeness between them, of having the secret out, threw all of them to some degree, and each dealt with it in his own way: James by flinging himself into normalcy, practicing for Quidditch and abusing other students with a fervor that occasionally bordered on the hysterical; Peter by asking Remus miles of gradually less and less tentative questions; Remus by managing to answer them without ever having to put his head between his knees, which given the circumstances Sirius rather admired. And Sirius, for his part, having felt deprived of it thus far, armed himself with information.  
  
His new reading habits became dicey to explain from time to time; most of the more in-depth literature on werewolves strayed ever nearer to the Restricted Section, into darker and darker magic, and Madam Pince's looks became continually narrower and more suspicious in kind.  
  
"What does a second-year student need with _Dark Creatures And Their Dark Habits_?" she finally snapped in mid-December, clutching his most recent find away from him over her desk. Sirius tried for his most charming smile.  
  
"I, er, have a note?" he tried. This was true, actually; just in case, early on he'd sought out permission slips for most of the likely-looking texts nearest to the forbidden zone, from the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Professor Rouge had been easy enough to convince, even with his rather thin story about wanting to do "independent study." She had only started this year, and seemed very easily distracted, to be honest. Madam Pince had narrowed her eyes even further at him, to the point where he had feared they and her thinning lips might actually disappear into her face -- but before that point could arrive, she had finally handed the book over to him.  
  
"Two weeks," she spat, with such an intensity of teeth involved that he was too disturbed to do anything more than mutter "thank you" and flee for his life.  
  
So he read, and read, and read, and hated it, and read some more. The main problem was that it was incredibly difficult to find anything of interest to him: all the authors of most books seemed to care about, when it came to werewolves, was how many ways it was possible for them to kill you, how best you might go about killing them, and ideas for what to do with their various parts once you had. After the first ten or twelve books he tried, the whole thing had become rather disheartening, not to mention immensely predictable.  
  
"Watch, I bet I can tell you exactly what he says," he said to James one afternoon, after cracking open _Fantastickal Beasts and Magickal Marvels_ to the relevant section -- and when Remus was definitely nowhere within earshot. He tossed James the book and closed his eyes, reciting in the stuffiest, most nasal mimickry he could muster. "'The werewolf is a bloodthirsty beast, only interested in biting people and making more werewolves, but if you can stab it with a silver knife good and proper you can make a lovely throw pillow.'" He cracked open an eye, his lip in a cynical curl. "How was that?"  
  
James bumped up his glasses and flipped through the tome, which was approximately three times as large as his lap and four times as dusty. "Well, he says 'vicious' actually, not bloodthirsty," he said, "and he goes on for about ten pages about the middle part, and he's actually much more interested in how to pull out their teeth so they don't crack, but..." He shut the book and tossed it back. "Apart from that, you're pretty well spot-on, mate."  
  
"Brilliant," Sirius muttered, and opened it back up anyway.  
  
It was like none of these people had ever even _seen_ a werewolf, except maybe to try to kill it... and now that he thought of it, in most cases, that was probably exactly the truth. The problem was, any information was more information than he had, and he couldn't discount anything, no matter how frustrating, out of the fear that it might have some tiny morsel buried in it that he hadn't seen before. And so he kept taking out and chewing through the books, one after another, in spite of his growing outrage. He even took home a couple over the winter holiday, holing up in his bedroom with them in defense against his mother, yelling Reg off if he even started to ask what Sirius was reading. When he'd finished with the ones from school, he even went through the books in his father's old study, hoping against hope that something here might be a bit more relevant; but the only titles he found with the word _Werewolf_ in them tended also to contain the word _Taxidermy_ , and the one that contained _Eugenics_ instead turned out to have less to do with cleanliness than he'd hoped. He gave up in a hurry, even more discouraged than before and considerably more nauseated.  
  
And in spite of what seemed like the efforts of every author in wizarding history, he did learn a few things. He learned that werewolves -- where there were enough of them -- were social, like true wolves, tending to be drawn to one another (the author was unclear on exactly how, but Sirius got the vague idea it had something to do with smell or something) and to organize into communities. These tended to be isolated from the rest of wizarding society, whether by the werewolves' own choice or the society's, and often to occupy wild or wooded areas. Among themselves, they tended to break into social hierarchies in which the "oldest" werewolf -- the one who had been turned the longest ago, that was -- became dominant, and commanded the respect and obedience of the others. After being bitten, they tended to live between five and ten years -- and _that_ piece, if no other, gave Sirius a nasty jump, making his heart climb into his throat in a slime of sick dismay. Most of these deaths were by the misadventure being a werewolf often incurred, the text seemed to suggest, and Remus was young enough and restrained enough to have been kept away from the worst possible harm... but at the same time, Sirius knew better than to tell himself Remus was exactly safe, either. And _ten years_ , at _most_? A clock counting down to when Remus was sixteen, and then simply running out? Even thinking it was possible made him cold.  
  
But finally, the first week back at school in January and starting all over again, there was one more thing.  
  
"James," he said in a frowning whisper, as he surfaced from the most recent book in the parade. They were in the library, for once, he reading, James going to any possible lengths to irritate the group of Ravenclaws trying to study at the next table. "Listen to this."  
  
James glanced at him only briefly before rolling up the next wad of green slime -- lovingly crafted in the most productive Potions class of the year. "What is it, recipe for werewolf chops with wild mushrooms and rice?"  
  
"No. That's disgusting."  
  
"But funny."  
  
"No. ...A little. Just listen." He found his place again with his finger, reading off the page with his voice as low as it could still be heard. "'When hunting the Werewolf, it may be of some Benefit to employ the Aid of an Animal, such as a Hunting-Hound. The Werewolf, possessing in its transformed State the sole Aim of propagating its Species, seeks only human Prey to offer its Savagery -- '"  
  
"Sorry, but this sounds a lot like more of the same," James broke in in undertone, his eyes fixed on the collar of one Ravenclaw boy's shirt. Sirius glared at him over the top of his book.  
  
"Well, it might if you don't shut up and _listen_ ," he hissed back, and James rolled his eyes and made a _go on, then_ gesture with one hand. Sirius found his place again, after a moment's fumbling. "'...to offer its -- ' Right, there we are. Then it says, 'However, it does not seek Victuals, nor even commit Violence for the sake of Sport. A Beast, not being capable of carrying the Werewolf's deadly Contagion, is therefore in no Danger of Attack. Indeed, Dogs, true Wolves, and other Canids have often been known to befriend the transformed Werewolf when introduced, by Virtue of the Monster's sociable Nature. By these Means, the Werewolf's Trust may be secured,' and blah blah blah killing it and so on."  
  
"Huh," James said, and for a wonder when Sirius looked up again his attention had been at least a little distracted from the slime dripping in his fingers. "So they don't bite dogs?"  
  
"Or animals at all, it looks like." Sirius tapped the page for emphasis, glancing at the Ravenclaws himself to make sure they weren't listening before speaking again. "But here's the _really_ interesting bit -- " He found his place again. "'Alternatively, in the Event that the Use of an Animal is not practical, _an Animagus may perform the same Service._ Although able to detect the Traces of Magic an Animagus retains, the Werewolf also cannot transmit its Disease to a Wizard in other than human Shape, and thus, to its Mind, the transformed Witch or Wizard is _indistinguishable from a genuine Beast._ "  
  
To his great irritation, however -- particularly after all the added emphasis -- James met this bombshell with only the same look of mild interest. "Oh," he said. "That is interesting."  
  
" _Oh?_ It's _brilliant_! It's -- " Sirius broke off finally, sighing, and flapped his hand in disgust in James's direction. "Look, just throw that, you'll never listen to me until you've had done."  
  
"Caught on, have you?" James agreed cheerfully, and at last lined up a shot and let fly. He missed the Ravenclaw boy's collar, but got the center of his textbook, bringing all conversation at the next table to a halt as it slid its slow way down the interior spine. James dropped his head to his arms at once, both to feign sleep and muffle his cackle in his arm. Sirius sighed again, the corners of his mouth twitching, but aimed a radiant, innocent beam and small wave in the Ravenclaws' direction when all their glaring attention made its way across James to him. After all, in all things in life, you had to maintain a certain balance of priorities.  
  
"Fantastic," James managed a few seconds later, when the Ravenclaws had given up and packed up their things, leaving with every nose in the air. "You can't _plan_ that, sometimes things just line up just so..." He sat up again shaking his head, wiping his watering eyes. "Aaaanyway. You were nattering on and on about werewolves again."  
  
"Was not," Sirius said automatically, before leaning across the table and back into his urgent hiss. "Look. How do you not see how important this is? _Werewolves don't bite transformed Animagi._ They even make friends with them!"  
  
"Yeah?" James shrugged, more infuriatingly than ever. "Maybe you should tell McGonagall. She and Remus could finally let out their forbidden love every full moon, have a right hairy time of it." He considered a moment. "Assuming he doesn't find it's more fun to chase her."  
  
Sirius stared at James for several long seconds, then reached out and cuffed him around the side of the head. Not gently, either; James actually yelped, and his glasses toppled off onto the library table.  
  
"Ow! _What?_ " He scrambled them back on, owlishly, already glowering like a mad thing. "What the hell's wrong with you?"  
  
"What the hell's wrong with _you_?" Sirius returned -- dropping his voice even further between his clenched teeth, and checking fast over James's shoulder for Madam Pince. When James only stayed ruffled up, gripping the table, Sirius leaned in even closer. "I'm not going to tell McGonagall," he said, with all the patience he could muster -- which admittedly wasn't much. "Or any other teacher, for that matter. Because _she's_ not the Animagus I'm thinking of."  
  
James stared at him. For long enough that Sirius began to think he would never get it. And then, at last, dawningly: "... _No._ "  
  
Sirius held his eyes. "Yes."  
  
"There's no way." But the sinking in Sirius's stomach was just barely held at bay, by the slight and growing curve at the edge of James's mouth, the slight and growing light at the back of his eyes. "It takes _years_ and you can muck it up all kinds of horrible ways -- you've got to be _really_ really clever -- "  
  
"Lucky for us we are, then."  
  
James met his stare a few seconds longer... and then, slowly, sat back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "We are though, aren't we?" he murmured at last, mainly to himself, seeming to savor and wonder at the idea. "We really, really are."  
  
"Think of all the stuff we could do," Sirius said, unable to keep in his grin. As much as he liked James, as crazy as James could drive him, he would always know exactly where to hit him. "Think of where we could _go_. The Forbidden Forest -- "  
  
"We could sneak out at all hours, nobody'd even know it was us," James said almost under his breath, still looking off into a dreamy nothing in particular.  
  
"Perfect for pranks."  
  
"Perfect for _anything_." James seemed to consider for a moment, and then added as an afterthought, "And we could help Remus, of course."  
  
"Of course," Sirius agreed, trying not to sound too sarcastic. James glanced at him -- and then grinned. The light now full and true and blinding in his eyes, and actually, Sirius _loved_ him. Best friends forever, the brother he should have had. And all of that tooth-rotting nonsense. Not that he would have said any of it right then even under torture, of course.  
  
"All right, you brilliant madman, I'm in," James said; and Sirius broke out into such glorious celebration that it took only seconds before they were thrown out of the library after all.  
  
\---  
  
They agreed almost at once that it would be better not to tell Remus until they had done it. Better to keep it a secret, James had said; and better not to get Remus's hopes up over nothing if somehow it turned out they _couldn't_ manage to make it work, no one had said and no one had had to. And this time, furthermore, Sirius balked only for a token moment before agreeing to invite Peter in on the plan, as well. Peter had actually managed to impress him a tiny bit since Remus's secret had come out, and Sirius found himself feeling slightly more warmly toward him this winter.  
  
In mid-January, glancing over his Astronomy charts and talking to Remus brought something to his attention so horrible it was frankly insulting: the full moon this month fell on the night of Remus's birthday.  
  
"It's not so bad," Remus said with a small shrug, when Sirius expressed his indignance. "I mean, the moon comes whenever it does, that's all. I'm just happy every year it doesn't fall the day before Christmas again." He summoned a wan smile. "I thought my brothers would lynch me."  
  
"Serves them right," Sirius grumbled, although it did nothing but make Remus give him that small, patient smile that said he wasn't helping. " _And_ it's on a Thursday, so we'll be in class all day, and the moon'll be up almost before dinner. Don't you ever get to _enjoy_ yourself at all?"  
  
"Every now and then," Remus said -- but mostly to the pile of homework on his bed, which did little to convince Sirius. "You're taking this awfully personally."  
  
"Yeah, well, it's stupid!" Sirius flung himself down cross-legged on the floor abruptly, and chewed his lip for a long moment before looking back up at Remus. "What do you want for your birthday?"  
  
"Sirius," Remus said, with a frankly unbearable load of patience. Sirius only leveled a wide-eyed stare in his direction.  
  
"Remus. I mean it."  
  
Remus sighed. "For you to stay out of trouble all day."  
  
"No, you don't." Sirius scooted forward on his rear across the floor, to grab at Remus's shoe. Remus lifted it out of reach with dignity. "Reeeeeeeemus." He managed to put at least eight syllables in Remus's name, which he considered a new personal best. "Come _on_. What do you want?"  
  
"Peace and quiet?" Remus tried again, sounding unhopeful. Sirius stretched up on his knees and went for his shoe again.  
  
"You _do not_ ," he said firmly, becoming quickly absorbed in his work. Remus tried to remove it again, but to no avail. "I know deep down your heart burns for mischief and shouting and badgers let loose in girls' dormitories."  
  
"Mm." Remus's mouth twitched, but that was all. "I think you've mixed up my heart and James's again."  
  
"No, James's heart burns for Quidditch, Quidditch, bacon, Quidditch, and James's hair." He poked the capped tip of one of Remus's shoelaces through an eyelet, covered by the fact that Remus had this time been unable to keep from laughing. "And that's not the _point_ , the _point_ is what you want for your birthday. Tell me or I will never, ever leave you alone."  
  
"You'll never leave me alone anyway," Remus pointed out. Justly, Sirius had to admit. He responded by pulling out a few more lengths of shoelace, and Remus sighed and went back to his notes. They both concentrated, through several long moments of silence, on their respective tasks; and then at last, hesitatingly, Remus spoke again. "...I like chocolate," he said, in a much lower voice. Sirius glanced up.  
  
"You what now?" He gestured with Remus's shoelaces, which were now entirely free, to Remus's apparent unamusement. "Sorry, I was busy."  
  
"I can see that." Remus gave up and kicked off his shoes. "I like chocolate. A lot. Is all."  
  
Sirius stared at him a moment longer -- and then broke into a broad, sunny grin.  
  
"Chocolate," he said. "Got it."  
  
And then boosted himself off the bed and away, humming, already occupied in wondering where he could find out how to enchant a pair of shoelaces to choke Snivellus.  
  
It was the first full moon, as it turned out, when he knew what was happening; in December it had been close enough that Remus had simply gone home a couple of days early, and Sirius had been occupied with his own affairs at the time, such as packing up and praying to become temporarily deaf. But there was no avoiding it this time. Thursday night they all sat at dinner together, like always, and then Remus got up early, casting a swift nervous glance around at all of them that made Sirius's chest seize slightly. Still not quite sure about this -- about how any of it worked.  
  
They all glanced among themselves, as Remus hovered for that tiny moment at the side of the Gryffindor table, the realization passing from one to the next. And one by one they all came back, and met his eyes.  
  
"Off to study, then, Remus?" Peter said, a little too overbrightly and with a hair too much drama. Sirius winced, but he had to admit to himself it wasn't half bad, at least for Peter. Remus looked a little cheese-coloured, but he nodded, mustering something not unlike a smile.  
  
"Yes. I'll see you... er. Later."  
  
"Right," James said, nodding. "Hope you, you know, do all right."  
  
Remus offered back another weak smile, casting a quick glance around them. "Me too," he said.  
  
Sirius looked at him; but looking at him was all he did, just holding eye contact for a long space of seconds. And then, just before Remus looked away, he mouthed, _You'll be okay._  
  
And Remus, passing him, nodded so slightly it might have been just a tilt of his head.  
  
The three of them were somewhat subdued, wandering back to Gryffindor Tower without him, able to summon up less energy for excitement and jokes than they usually might. Even the few times James tried, half-heartedly, if only to take their minds off it, Sirius barely responded, and eventually he just gave up. When they got back, James flopped in the common room with Peter to play some Exploding Snap, and Sirius just went on past them with an absent wave, making his way up to the boys' dormitory and their room. He glanced around, feeling at a loss. Every object in the room seemed to have lost its meaning, every corner made somehow unfamiliar in the dim evening light.  
  
He sat on the windowsill and looked up at the sky, waiting for the moon; and long after James and Peter had come in, said goodnight, and gone to bed, he was still there, watching.  
  
\---  
  
Remus barely woke up before Madam Pomfrey came to collect him that moonset; sometimes he could be more helpful, but this past night his lupine self had managed to scrape an alarming majority of skin off its (and thus, his) belly somehow, and he'd lost enough blood to have her clucking furiously and himself passed out for the morning's better part. When he did wake, he was in a bed in the hospital wing, bandaged and itching horribly from a generous slathering with Re-Pidermis -- a potion he would by now give almost anything _never_ to have to experience again. Cracks of daylight were drifting across him from the windows, lending the whole wing a dreamy unreality where all its whites were too white, all its colours too grey. He felt awful, bedraggled and exhausted, hurting in every inch of him.  
  
There was a chair sitting next to his bed. On it sat a small sheet of parchment and a plate, and on the plate sat a small, round, _extremely_ chocolate cake.  
  
For a long, long moment, Remus just stared at the cake. The cake did not stare back at him; the cake was covered in entirely too much chocolate frosting to possess a clear visual field. He wondered, briefly, if he might have injured himself so badly in one way or another that he might be hallucinating. And then he remembered.  
  
The scrap of parchment was a note, it turned out, of sorts.  
  
 _Remus,  
  
The house-elves missed you! Got very excited when told it was your birthday. Cake may be entirely chocolate. Unsure.  
  
Happy birthday anyway. We'll have a proper celebration Sat. but M.P. says no shouting, fire, or animals in hospital wing. How is anyone supposed to get well like that??_  


_Feel better,  
J  
S  
P_

  
So many possibilities, he found himself thinking, as he set the note down, his eyes still fixed vaguely on where it had been; so many eventualities about being a werewolf, he had been prepared for ahead of time. Of every danger, every hazard in his road, every terrifying conclusion to which matters might lead, someone had taken care to warn him. Except for this. No one had ever prepared him for the simple possibility of a Sirius, a James, or a Peter. If someone had suggested their existence to him two years ago, he would have been unable to even laugh at the idea. No matter what they did, as long as they all lived, no matter what they might ask of him, he would never be able to say no to them, or to hold any of it against them. He saw that future, in this instant, spreading out ahead of him with perfect clarity, and with a resignation that was actually almost akin to pleasure.

After a quick glance around, he swiped one finger through the frosting and licked it off. Just about pure chocolate, in fact.

Madam Pomfrey made no comment at all when she came in to check on him -- just quietly fetched him a fork and some napkins for the last quarter or so he hadn't finished. He was a bit embarrassed, of course, but relieved all the same; perhaps her familiarity with the medicinal properties of chocolate made her unlikely to object to its presence in her hospital wing. She fluffed up his pillows and checked his bandages, made a few faint thoughtful sounds to herself, and then remarked, "Peculiar that your friends knew where to find you, Mr. Lupin."

Her gaze was a bit too keen, and Remus avoided it, concentrating his attention more firmly on the cake. "Well... they know I get hurt a lot," he said to it, and only several seconds later mustered the courage to risk a glance up at her, with a small sheepish smile. "And they can be, erm. Very clever."

Madam Pomfrey only kept looking at him for long moments, rather assessingly he thought; but somehow he managed to keep meeting her gaze, and keep his expression calm, and finally she only sighed and shook her head. What was on her lips for an instant might actually have been a smile -- although he couldn't be sure, as he didn't think he'd ever seen one there before. "They can at that," she agreed, and drew the curtains round his bed. "Finish your birthday cake, then, and go straight back to sleep. You need your rest." And, as a businesslike afterthought: "And happy birthday, Mr. Lupin."

Which he supposed, later, might have been an agreement of sorts between them. Which was all right too.

He fell back to sleep the morning after the full moon -- for the first time in all of his memory -- smiling slightly, and feeling peaceful, and exceedingly full of chocolate cake.

\---

"But it's _Sunday_ ," Peter whined, for about the eighth time. It appeared to be a fact he was incapable of moving beyond. "You said being in the library on Sunday's for people who have to pay other people to pretend to be their friends."

"No I didn't," James said absently. He was very much involved in his own affairs this afternoon anyway, which mostly seemed to involve squinting at other students around the library and looking uncomfortable. Sirius had thought about asking him what was on his mind, but knowing James it just involved Quidditch practice and they were sure to hear about it for six straight hours eventually anyway.

"Actually, you did," he told James instead, and passed out some more of the stack of books in front of him. Peter looked at him as though personally attacked; James ignored him. "Several times, including at lunch about a week ago. which reminds me -- in that case you all owe me three Sickles each."

Peter mumbled something that was almost completely inaudible but a few sounds of which seemed suspiciously to suggest, "More like you owe _me_ ," which actually impressed Sirius again, a little bit. He shoved the corner of a book into Peter's gut anyway, on principle, making him _oof_ out all his breath and then offer up a wounded glare.

"Do you think Evans is pretty?" James asked suddenly, in an urgent hiss, turning back to the two of them all at once. Sirius forgot himself and exchanged a glance with Peter, then regretted it and turned back to James.

" _Evans?_ " James nodded, though, looking extremely grave, so Sirius just stared at him rather than hooting laughter right away. "...I think she's a stuck-up grade-grubber who's fatally allergic to people having fun anywhere and ought to learn to mind her own bloody business."

"Yeah, but do you think she's _pretty_?" James asked, even lower. Sirius considered, then shrugged.

"Well, yeah, 'course she is."

James made a slightly anxious-sounding thoughtful noise, and lapsed into silence again. Sirius glanced between him and Peter, then sighed.

"Look, will you two collect yourselves? We are _trying_ to work on the _greatest idea ever_. Try to concentrate. Remus'll be out of the hospital wing soon."

Peter sighed, and finally thumped open the book nearest him, dropping his chin down onto it. "How does it even work?"

"It's just Transfiguration at the bottom of it, all right? James and I are brilliant at that." Sirius jerked a hand back through his hair, and sat back. "It shouldn't be that hard."

" _I'm_ not," Peter said morosely, the book under his chin deforming his mouth around the words. Sirius sighed.

"Well, you're not brilliant at anything, you should be used to it by now." Peter only scowled in response, and curled his arms on the book around his head.

"She's not _that_ pretty," James remarked, out of presumably the same nowhere as before. He glanced at the two of them, as though for support. "I mean, there's loads of girls that are prettier, right?"

Sirius could only stare at him again. "What is _wrong_ with you today?"

James glanced at him, frowning. "Nothing, what's wrong with _you_ today?"

" _Nothing._ " Sirius leaned across the table in his direction, baring his teeth slightly. "I am _trying_ to _do something_. Why do you even care if Evans is pretty?"

James's expression took a swift turn, looking suddenly both caught and indignant about it, which Sirius could only assume was another symptom of the sudden brain fever that seemed to have seized him. "I don't!"

"Then why will you _not shut up about it?_ "

"I -- " James seemed to hesitate, and then his brow cleared, and he leaned forward on the table himself, snagging a book and pulling it to him. "Never mind. No reason. I don't. So the Animagus transformation -- it's rough because you're doing it to _yourself_ , right? It affects your brain when your brain's what you need to keep doing it, and so on."

Sirius nodded, satisfied. "It seems like that's the trick of it, yeah. You can't just turn yourself into something else whenever you like -- I mean, you _could_ turn yourself into a wardrobe, but then somebody else'd have to change you back, and if they weren't really careful you might only be able to think about hangers for the rest of your life. The thing with turning into an animal is, you've got to just sort of find the animal bits in _yourself_ and bring them all out, and then change the rest to match. So you can keep thinking enough like yourself to stay yourself, and be able to change back." He tapped the cover of the book in front of him with a finger. "Or that's what it seems like everyone says."

"You've been reading an awful lot of books lately," James observed, at his pause. "Don't you know that's unhealthy?"

"Well, the thing is, sometimes books have words in them," Sirius told him with great sincerity, leaning wide-eyed in James's direction. "And sometimes -- and this is the important bit, James, pay attention -- the words _teach_ you things." James appeared unmoved, just shaking his head and then fluffing at his hair.

"I think you've been hanging round with Remus too much," he said. "Also, it is definitely _me_ that you owe the three Sickles."

Sirius chose to ignore this. "Anyway, what were you expecting, we'd pop round to McGonagall's office and say, oh, when you've got a moment, would you mind teaching us how you turn into a cat? Purely for curiosity's sake, of course, but if you'd just write out a couple sets of detailed instructions with diagrams."

"We _could_ ask her about it just a little," Peter ventured, his head pillowed on his arm. James actually thought for a few seconds, then shook his head.

"Nah, Sirius or me she'd just know right off we were up to something, and you she'd figure we sent," he said. "Remus could do it, maybe."

"But then Remus would want to know why," Sirius finished for him, nodding. "Nah, we're on our own. But we'll manage, there's got to be at least a little practical stuff in here somewhere. It's not like we're trying to learn to do some kind of horrible curse, squidges people's brains out their ears."

"Is there a curse like that?" Peter asked, interested -- and alarmed -- enough to lift his head at last. Sirius snorted.

"What's it matter? You've got none to squidge." Peter frowned again, but only bit his lip.

James, meanwhile, was leafing through the books Sirius had passed out to him, comparing one to another. "Seems like you don't even pick the animal, actually," he said. "I mean, these talk all about the Animagus form being an extension of the wizard, and related to their Patronus, whatever that is, and whatnot." He sighed, drumming his fingers on the table. "So much for being a rhinoceros. Probably."

"Ah, don't worry, you break enough things as it is." Sirius tilted his head to look at one of the books James had, then switched it with one of his own, scanning down the page. "Let's just get to it, all right? See what we can find out."

They'd all picked up books, and been working quietly for about two minutes or so (the sight of which, Sirius was amused to note, seemed to be making everyone else in the library _extremely_ nervous), when Peter suddenly set his back down. "What if I can't do it?" he asked, as suddenly as James's questions about Lily Evans -- although with a considerably more plaintive tone to it. Sirius turned another page.

"Then I'll be really shocked and stunned," he said, without looking up. "And we'll tell you how it went."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see James looking up frowning, and opening his mouth to say something -- but both of them were struck into surprised quiet when _Peter_ beat him to it.

"Quit _picking_ on me, Sirius!" Peter exploded. In a low enough voice to keep from attracting more than a few puzzled glances, but Sirius knew an explosion when he heard one, and was taken aback enough that he could only gape. "I _know_ I'm not as clever as you, but I'm still _trying_ , all right?" He grappled with his book, and then flung it back down on the table in apparent pique. "You never even tell me anything," he went on in a furious undertone, staring at it with his arms crossed. "I was the last one to know when something was funny about Remus. I was the last one to know -- " He broke off, and glanced around. "...You know, what it was. And now if I hadn't asked you probably _never_ would have even told me what you were doing. I care about Remus too, you know!"

Only then could Sirius finally find his voice, still staring at Peter like he'd never quite seen him before. In point of fact he felt a little like he hadn't, but he refused to let that keep him off balance for long.

"No you don't," he said at last, in an even lower voice, his lip curling slightly. "Listen to you. 'You never tell me anything!'" His voice jumped the octave for the mimickry, which was at least satisfying if not really accurate. "All _you_ care about is whether or not you get to hang round James all day and stick your nose in absolutely everything that comes along. 'Oi, James, where you going, the toilet? Can I come too?'" James snickered, apparently unable to help himself, in spite of the dull brick red shade Peter was turning. Sirius sat back in his chair again, chuffing out a moody breath. "You couldn't care less about Remus."

"He's my friend too," Peter repeated in barely more than a whisper, glaring over his crossed arms at nothing. Sirius rolled his eyes and turned on him.

"Oh yeah, which one?"

"Oh, will you two shut it?" James broke in at this point, sounding a bit cross but still with more laughter in his voice than anything else. "Blimey, what are you, a couple of _girls_? Going on about who _cares_ about who more and whether we're really _friends_. Bloody hell, I'm embarrassed to know either of you."

"Yeah, well, that goes for both of you, actually," Sirius said. He didn't entirely mean to; somehow it just burst out of his lips anyway, like a tiny dynamite charge in his mouth. When James gaped at him, though, he met it with a squinting, challenging glare. "What, you haven't been listening to yourself? Like _you_ care about Remus either."

James just stared at him for a few more seconds, struggling, and then exploded a bit himself. Although rather less conscientiously than Peter had; they were going to get chucked out of the library again soon if they didn't manage to settle down. "Yeah, well I'm _so sorry_ we can't all be as _obsessed with Remus_ as you have been lately!"

"I am not obsessed with Remus!" Sirius snapped back, in a sort of stage-whisper shout, before struggling to rein himself in. They had both risen slightly out of their chairs, Peter now just hanging back and looking in an agony of fear, disgruntlement, and confusion. "Maybe I just actually care that he's been going through something _incredibly horrible_ every month for his _entire life_ up until now, and we never even knew."

With that hanging in the air, he paused to get some of his breath back; and then he sank all the way back down into his chair, glowering at the table. "We're supposed to be his friends," he repeated, "and we never even knew."

Nobody had anything to say to that for a few seconds.

"How were we meant to know?" James asked, a moment later, much of the anger by now leached out of his voice. Sirius could resent him for that; for letting Sirius's misery end the fight, taking away the bag he still wanted to punch it out on. "I mean, a lot of people _were_ sort of trying to keep it secret."

"Teachers and everyone," Peter said, seeming relieved to have James leading in a more comfortable direction. "And he never complains about it or anything."

"We should have known something was wrong," Sirius muttered at the table, refusing to be budged. James sighed.

"Well -- you _did_ , you know, eventually." Sirius didn't even dignify that with a response, though, and at last James sat back again, setting both his hands down on the tabletop in a teacherly sort of gesture. "Look, let's not fight about this. It's completely stupid. And I think we're all missing the main point here, which is that we are going to learn to turn into _animals_ and it will be _brilliant_."

"James raises an excellent point," Sirius finally admitted, grudgingly, after several long moments' pause. James thumped the tabletop again in victory, earning a particularly severe glare from the hovering Madam Pince across the room. He retracted his hand in a hurry.

"So let's sort it out," he said, in a much quieter whisper. "Peter -- stop worrying about it. If you can't do it, we'll help you, all right? Sirius -- yeah, Remus is our mate, but he's been doing without us this long, I don't think we've ruined his life or anything. And _both_ of you... erm." He stopped to think for a second, and then took another swipe at his hair and looked at them both as candidly as James ever did. "Do you think Evans would... you know, be my girlfriend? If I asked, like?"

Sirius stared at him. "That depends," he said, at last. "Are you expecting that she'll be alive or dead at the time?"

At which point Peter started laughing, Madam Pince arrived at the end of her rope, and they actually got very little else done on the project that day.

\---

Nor over much of the rest of that spring; they could really only do their best work on it when Remus was in the hospital wing, and that was only a little over a week or so total the rest of the school year, not counting that one abortive Sunday in February. Still, they managed to pull all together without Remus before they left for the Hogwarts Express at year's end, and to agree to spend as much of the summer as possible practicing what they'd learned (which unfortunately mostly involved some visualization exercises and walking around on all fours).

"Not to worry," James said, clasping Peter and Sirius by their shoulders and offering his most confident smile. "We'll get it, right? It was never going to be easy, but we've just got to keep at it. And at least it's not like we haven't got time."

"Yeah," Sirius said; but he didn't smile. He was thinking about that one book in the long parade, the one that said _between five and ten years_. He was picturing -- no matter how hard he tried not to -- an hourglass, marked _16_ , running gradually down at the side of Remus's hospital bed.

Probably not. Possibly not. Hopefully not. No way to know.

But sometime in July, in his awful dusty room at home with his mum trying to ignore him and Reg fussing every waking moment about going to school next year, he had a dream that was all in black-and-white, where he chased a rabbit through waving grassy fields under a full moon, for what seemed like hours. He was oddly low to the ground in it, bounding along on too many legs, and all of the colours of the world were bound up in its smells, which had become a sudden symphony. He never caught the rabbit but he woke up grinning for no reason, his eyes open in the darkness of his room; with the sensation deep in his chest of something great, something wonderful and enormous, just beginning to move forward.


	4. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Regulus gets Sorted; Remus gets uncomfortable; Sirius gets involved; James gets his groove on; and Peter gets mostly ignored (but what else is new).

"Just try not to embarrass me," Sirius said, flopping back on the bed with his arms behind his head. He jounced the trunk slightly next to him with the motion, although it was too heavy to go far. "And don't, you know, hang round me all the time, like I'm the tour guide or something. You've got to learn to make friends on your own sometime."

He craned his head up after another moment, trying to check the impression all of this was having. Regulus's face was sideways to him, though, and mostly chin and nostril from this angle (something Sirius thought about pointing out in detail, and then decided his current subject was far too important); and although his lips looked very thin, Reg still said nothing. Just continued balling up socks and packing them in as cushions around the edges of his Sir Galton's Pure Perfection Blood Purity Crystal, which their mum had given him for his birthday before last. Sirius had tried at great length to berate him out of taking it to Hogwarts, but Reg had finally exploded, near tears, into how if she found it still there after he was gone she'd kill him, which Sirius supposed he could grudgingly understand. Still, he held high hopes of finding a way to flush it down a school toilet. If James saw Sirius's own brother with something like that --

"And don't worry if mum throws a fit," he went on, a moment later still. "Really. I mean, the worst she can do there is letters and Howlers, and anyway it doesn't matter what she thinks, does it? We're our own people, we've got to be sometime. So what if she doesn't like it? It's none of her business, that's what I think."

The crystal fully covered, Reg took a pair of shoes from the floor, dusted them off, and tucked them into a bag from the pile on the bed, on the other side of his trunk from Sirius. His brow was slightly knitted, and he still said nothing at all.

Sirius was actually beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable with all of this, which annoyed him into sitting up. "You're not scared, are you?" Continued silence. He sighed, noisily. "Look, it's _fine_ , don't be such a baby. You'll love it, it's brilliant. I can't wait to go back -- I'd have been there all summer if they'd have me." He cast a long, sour look around at Regulus's bedroom, which did only a halfhearted job of standing in for the rest of the house in his regard. There was a forbidding portrait of one of their great-great-uncles on one of the walls, glowering at them as best he could from around the closet door Reg deliberately kept open right in front of him, and the awful family crest fixed onto the wall over the bed (in a fit of pique between first and second years Sirius had tried to change the motto to read TOEJAM PUS, but hadn't gotten far against his dad's old spellwork), but otherwise there was much less of their parents and more of Reg in here: expensive games and trinkets scattered carelessly in the corners; that stupid sign he'd spent all day lettering out stuck up on the door, meant very pointedly for Sirius at the time of its posting; pictures on the desk of him and Sirius standing together, much smaller and dour and fidgeting, at one Christmastime or another. There wasn't much in the way of resistance here, but neither was it exactly more of the same.

"I'm not scared," Reg said, finally -- surprising Sirius into looking at him. He was still staring into his trunk, with a tight expression that Sirius couldn't entirely work out.

"All right, then," he said after watching Reg a few seconds, with a false hearty shrug that he was a trifle uneasy underneath. "Is mum coming along to see you off?"

"She's too busy, she said," Reg said into his trunk, quieter than before. Sirius hesitated, and then shrugged again, leaning his elbows on his knees.

"Well -- at least she's not trying to make you go with _Kreacher_. I'll take you, show you the lot. Good riddance, not having her nagging." He paused, thinking. "You'll even get to meet my friends. Just don't, you know, talk to them, or anything. " Reg made a small, noncommittal noise, or something like it. Sirius thought a moment longer. "And don't sit -- "

"Sirius, will you _shut up_?" Regulus burst out suddenly. Sirius glanced at him, startled again, and found his hands clenched suddenly on the lip of his open trunk, his eyes all but squeezed shut. "Just go _away_."

For a second or two Sirius could do nothing but blink at him. This was so unexpected he couldn't even find it in him to be angry. "...What the hell's got into _you_?"

" _Nothing,_ " Regulus nearly spat, his hands on the edge of the trunk now turning white at the knuckles. He reined in after a second, though, taking a breath and then opening his eyes again with a calmer look in them. "You're just _bothering_ me."

"...Well, pardon _me_. Wouldn't want to _bother_ your Majesty while you're trying to do something as thrilling as _pack_." _Now_ the anger had shown up, or was at least on approach. He'd just been trying to _help_ , for Merlin's sake. He shoved himself up off the bed, bouncing the trunk and all the neat piles of things beside it around rather more than necessary. He got to the door before realizing that some final word seemed necessary, turned back around, and before he could think about it as much as he probably should have, snapped: "And for your information, nobody wears cufflinks at Hogwarts. You're going to look like a prat taking those."

It probably didn't make much of a difference anyway, though. He ended up saying it all to Reg's back, and even when he stormed out of the room with as much noise as possible, Reg never turned around.

\---

They didn't speak to each other until the trip to King's Cross, and even then barely said as much as was needed for navigation. Sirius seemed to think of something else he wanted to instruct Reg with every minute, but each time ended up holding his tongue, scowling and stewing instead. Let the little toad work it out for himself, if he was so clever.

And then, more alarmingly in spite of everything he'd said, once they got on the platform, Reg just vanished. One moment he was behind Sirius, waiting behind while he scanned the crowd for his friends; and then by the time Sirius caught sight of James and started heading his way, when he looked around, Reg wasn't behind him anymore. Sirius paused, startled, and then stood on his toes, trying to peer over the heads of everyone on the platform and find him, but it was no good. Whether onto the train or deep enough into the thick of everyone to be invisible, Reg had gone.

"Are you all right?" Remus asked him aside in a low tone, on the train, when James had taken off as usual, droning at an enraptured Peter about every last tiny detail of what he thought about the upcoming Quidditch season. "You seem worried." Sirius glanced at him, frowning, only to find Remus frowning back at him.

"Yeah..." He shrugged, plucking at the seat and staring down at it. "It's nothing really. Just -- I told you my little brother's starting at Hogwarts this year."

Remus nodded, with an uncertain little smile. "Yes, I remember. Are you worried about him?"

"I -- " The question took him oddly aback. Somehow, he hadn't thought about it in quite those terms before. "...I guess so. I dunno." He thought for a moment, and then just sighed, shrugging again. "Eh, it doesn't matter. It'll be fine, he's just being a little git about it." He glanced around at the door to the corridor, then leaned in toward Remus to change the subject. "So... how was your summer?"

"Oh -- " Remus looked a bit alarmed, although to be fair that was often just sort of how he looked when Sirius moved close to him unexpectedly. "Um. It was all right, I suppose."

"Yeah?" Sirius leaned in even a little closer, lowering his voice confidentially until it was buried well under the cheerfully loud prattle of James's. "Even the _nights_?"

Remus stared at him for a second, and then dropped his eyes away, an awkward little grimace of a smile sitting on his lips. "Oh... yes, that. Well. ...Not too bad, honestly. The, the moon's not up as long in the summer, so that helps. The worst that happened was I -- sort of chewed up part of the basement, so my gums bled for a while after and I had to go to the dentist. And my dad was cross because having it repaired is too exp-- ...much trouble, so he had to do it himself." At that point, though, he seemed to catch himself and looked up, and noticed Sirius's expression at last, which made him laugh weakly. "...It sounds a lot worse than it was."

"Well, I bloody well hope so." Sirius spent a good few minutes scowling about that, then followed another thought. "The next one's not for a couple weeks or so, right?"

Remus nodded, with a shadow across his face he didn't quite cover in time. "Wednesday after next. Why?"

Sirius shrugged, and tried to do a better job of keeping his own expression even. "Just wondering."

\---

Remus spotted Sirius's brother as soon as he came to the head of the line, before Professor McGonagall could even read out, "Black, Regulus!" He did resemble Sirius, although perhaps not strongly: Regulus's hair was just as dark, if shorter and rather better-kept, but he was paler and thinner, and not even as tall as Sirius had been when Remus had first met him; and while they had a number of features in common, what was healthy and handsome on Sirius looked pinched and anxious and a little ill on Regulus's narrower face. Still, he might have been quite attractive in his own right if he were a bit less tense, but being less tense looked at the moment to be the last thing that was likely to happen to him. He stepped forward when his name was called, apparently trying to cover up how nervous he was by thrusting his head up and chest out in a self-important way, and _that_ sort of behavior was so instantly, subliminally familiar to Remus that he felt an instinctive wash of affection.

Neither did it escape his notice, though, that the elder Black, sitting next to him, looked at least as tense as the younger did. Sirius had been going steadily quieter and more restless since the Sorting things had come out, and now, looking at the side of his face, Remus could see a tight muscle jumping in his jaw, and the pressed whiteness of his lips.

Regulus sat down on the stool, plunked the Hat on his head with an air of confidence he didn't seem to really feel, and waited. ...And waited. For what seemed like a long time, in fact -- hadn't Sirius taken a strangely long time to be Sorted, too? Remus seemed to remember something like that, but he'd been rather distracted by terror of his own at the time. Sirius appeared tortured now, anyway, his fingers digging white-knuckled into the legs of his slacks. Finally, _finally_ the Sorting Hat opened its rip --

"SLYTHERIN!"

There was no stunned silence. No momentary breath-holding pause. A number of people at the Slytherin table applauded, looking mildly pleased but bored (and just as many, Remus noted with a slight frown, seemed to be pointedly refraining, instead). Regulus took the hat off, looking breathless and reddened as though he'd been running a race instead of sitting and wearing a hat, and walked briskly off to his new House table, while the next student was called. He didn't so much as look at Sirius as he passed him, walking by the Gryffindor table. Sirius, whose eyes were fixed out on nothing, and who hadn't moved.

James, sitting across the table from them, was casting swift surprised looks between Sirius and Regulus's retreating back. He leaned in forward across the tabletop, and Remus just had time to pray he would have the sense to _keep his mouth shut_ when James hissed at Sirius, "Oi! Wasn't that your _brother_?"

"Yeah," Sirius said, surprising Remus into glancing back at him. His voice was very measured, but he was now staring fixedly down at the table. James glanced over at the Slytherin table again, rising up a little from his seat for a better view (and in the process careening his shoulder into Peter's head, although Peter didn't seem to mind). When he sat back down he looked at Sirius again and shrugged, a grin starting on his mouth that made Remus want to scream at him, _What's the_ matter _with you? Are you_ stupid _, are you blind?_

"Looks like you really are the only decent one in the family, eh?" James said, though, cheerful as ever and apparently oblivious to the looks Remus was trying to give him instead. "Does he always walk like he sat on something pointy?"

Sirius didn't answer that, though. James's smile melted after a moment, and he frowned at Sirius instead; but fortunately for all of them, before he could ask _another_ question, Peter made a grab for his attention back, asking him breathlessly about the new Velocity Varnish on his broomstick. James was only happy to oblige him, and Remus was left to just watch the silent side of Sirius's face, staring down at the wood of the table as McGonagall's list of first years marched on. Wishing they could be alone, so he could say something; or at least that he didn't know that resting his hand on Sirius's shoulder, or trying to catch his eye, would just win _him_ the full brunt of whatever storm was coming.

\---

The feast was awful. Sirius was all but silent, responding in monosyllables at most to James's constant and agonizing attempts to draw him into conversation, more toying with his food than eating it throughout. Remus couldn't remember ever seeing Sirius so drawn inward; usually when something upset Sirius he just exploded, driving shrapnel into anyone stupid enough to get in his path, and under the circumstances Remus found this quiet rather nerve-wracking. When they'd finished eating and the prefects started gathering the first-years, Sirius got up at once and walked off with them, not even glancing back at the three of them, still seated at the table. They stared after him, and then Remus set down his fork and got up to follow him at once, as much to keep from hearing any incredulous, annoyed questions James might voice as for anything else.

Back in the dormitory, Sirius shut himself behind his bed-curtains almost immediately, and didn't respond to anyone speaking to him for the rest of the night. After a while the other three gave up, and they wound up sitting cross-legged in a triangle on the floor by James's bed, talking about the summer and their new classes and -- for some reason -- Lily Evans, since James seemed to keep bringing her up a lot. They kept on until they were all yawning and exhausted, and when he finally couldn't stay awake any longer, Remus cast one last frowning glance at Sirius's closed curtains on his way to bed; but there hadn't been any movement there all evening, not even a hint of a twitch.

\---

Sirius was acting a little more normally the next day, though: he still seemed moody and distracted, but he at least spoke to them at breakfast, and more as the day went on. He was better still the morning after that, their first day of classes, even laughed when James tripped up Snape in the corridor with what even Remus had to admit was a particularly well-timed hex. But it was only a fragile peace, not made to last. They came into double Potions in the afternoon just as the first-years were filing out, and the four of them nearly walked face-first into Regulus, who was coming barreling out of the classroom with his head down and shoulders hunched. Once again, he never so much as looked up; Sirius actually had to get out of his way to avoid being plowed into, and James called " _Oi!_ Watch it!" up the corridor after him as he nearly ran away. And then, by the time he turned back, Sirius had already marched into the classroom himself, flushed and clenched and silent. He hacked up James's and his daisy roots with such undirected fury during the lesson that he lost them points on their Shrinking Solution, and all James's apparent attempts to cheer him up seemed to fall worse than flat. Given that much of his efforts, from what Remus could see from the table where he and Peter were working, seemed to consist of cruelly accurate impersonations of Regulus storming away up the corridor, Remus wasn't exactly surprised.

When they returned to the tower, Sirius straight away slammed up the stairs and into their dormitory; and Remus, in spite of all his lingering fear and nerves, could no longer contain himself. "James," he said quietly -- but sternly, hoping he sounded more adult and in control than he felt. "Leave off about his brother, would you?"

James -- who had been standing at the foot of the stairs staring after Sirius, in surprise and growing outrage -- turned now on Remus instead. At least for the moment he looked too surprised to be angry at _him_. " _What?_ I wasn't -- " He struggled for a moment, almost comically gaping, and then shut his mouth in a glare that Remus winced from. "I was just trying to lighten him up! What are you shouting at _me_ for?""

Remus hadn't shouted even a little, by the most wildly generous definition of the term, but it seemed best to let that slide. "Well, it's not working." James's scowl deepened, and he sighed. "James, he's really upset about the whole thing. Can't you tell?"

"Well -- why should he be?" James wandered away and flung himself down onto a sofa as he spoke; more people were starting to file into the common room now, and the three of them were having to step aside and keep their voices down now anyway. It took Remus a beat or two to realise that hadn't been an answer to his question, though, and then that nagged at him until long after. _Could_ James tell? Had he known all along, and kept on anyway, thinking it must be the right thing because it was what he'd thought of to do? God, Remus was never going to understand other boys; not in a million years. "I mean, so his brother's in Slytherin, so what? So's the rest of his family, and it's not like he _likes_ him or anything. You've heard him talk about him -- he's always going on about him being a toad, and how he can't stand him, and all..."

Remus stared at James, for long moments even after he'd trailed off. It took him some time to be able to actually form words and speak. "...You really are an only child, aren't you?"

"What's that got to do with it?" James demanded after a second's pause, frowning deeper than ever. Peter, who had plopped down beside James, looked equally mystified. Remus hesitated, then sighed, rubbing his palm across his brow.

"...Never mind. Just -- trust me. Just because he doesn't like his brother all the time doesn't mean it doesn't matter to him. Or that he wants to hear somebody else insulting him."

"I wasn't -- " James started again, but then fell off into a moody, truculent silence. When he finally looked back up at Remus, there was a thin set to his mouth and a sullen heat dawning in his eyes that Remus didn't much care for: as though just looking at Remus had brought some infuriating thought back to his mind. "...Fine. Good. So glad _Remus_ was here to fill us in on _my best friend_ , since obviously I don't _really_ know a thing about him."

"That's not what I -- "

But this time it was Remus's turn to start off high and alarmed and then stutter into nothing, too startled and dismayed to keep speaking. _There_ was something he hadn't even known to be afraid of, although who knew why not. He swallowed, and tried again. "I just... have brothers too, that's all."

James seemed unmoved, though -- just sat with his arms folded, glaring out at nothing across the common room, as though he hadn't heard anyone speak. Peter looked helplessly between the two of them, plainly dismayed, but just the posture of the thing seemed telling: James sitting on the sofa and Peter sitting beside him, Remus standing above both of them like a teacher trying to handle an unruly class. If Peter had to make a choice which way to go, Remus supposed it was always going to be the obvious one. His stomach squeezed in on itself, helplessly. Why couldn't he just have kept his mouth shut?

Remus opened his mouth to say something else; but everything he could think of sounded in his head like it would only make James angrier, and in the end he gave up. He turned away instead, leaving the two of them on the couch without even another word about where he was going -- which in itself would probably have set James off all over again. Just headed up the stairs, to their dormitory room.

Sirius's bed-curtains were pulled again, but Remus just went to stand right outside them, trying to muster himself up. Probably he was just about to make a clean sweep of making people angry with him, all things considered, but he had to at least _try_. He took a deep breath, and then tugged on a curtain, trying to do it gently enough that it didn't make a gap. "Sirius? ...It's just me."

There was only silence for a moment or two -- just enough for Remus's stomach to sink all over again. Then the hangings tugged from the inside, and in the opening that had formed Remus could see Sirius's head, peering balefully out at him. He tried, feebly, to smile. They stayed like that for what seemed like ages, frozen; and then Sirius sighed, and shifted himself away across the bed, out of view. "Well. Get in, then."

Remus tried not to show his surprise, or hesitate too long. He pushed aside the hangings and climbed awkwardly headfirst onto Sirius's bed, trying both to keep his shoes off it and to keep from bonking into Sirius in the process. Sirius scooted back to make room for him, and twitched the curtains shut again with his wand once Remus was in. And then it was just the two of them sitting in reddish dimness, cross-legged and side-by-side, trying not to look at each other. ...And on Sirius's bed. Even as many times as he had already been there, Remus found he had to try not to think too hard about that part.

"I'm sorry about what happened with your brother," Remus said, at last, quietly and down to his hands. A direct approach seemed wisest, all things considered. "Are you all right?"

Sirius was quiet for a long while -- and then sighed, pulling his legs up to his chest. "Yeah. I mean... yeah. Fine." His voice came out muffled, his mouth pressed against his knees, but what there was to hear of it sounded rusty and tired. Mostly calm, though, at least. "...It's stupid anyway. It's nothing. I mean. I should have expected this would happen, you know? He'd always do anything to make mum happy." A bitter, twisting curve appeared at the corner of his mouth, just visible around the side of his leg. "Couldn't help noticing she didn't send _him_ any Howlers his first day."

Remus watched the side of his face, but that seemed to be all he had to say. "Were you hoping he'd be in Gryffindor?" he asked. Sirius was quiet again for a few seconds, and then let out another sigh, tipping back his head.

"I don't even _know_. I just..." He chewed his lip, thinking. "I just didn't want him to go around doing everything _I_ was meant to do. Reminding mum about everything I messed up, _and_ showing everybody here who didn't know what our family is _actually_ like." He paused, then exhaled loudly, and ducked down his head to scuff at his hair with both hands. "It'd've been good if he were in Gryffindor, sure, I just... I dunno. ...I kind of just wish he'd never come to school at all."

Remus gave that a good deal of quiet, deliberating space. "You're not your family," he said at the end of it -- still watching Sirius's face in profile, the hard line of his mouth and his tight, stormy brow. "You're just -- you."

Sirius snorted, eyes still fixed down on his knees. "This from somebody who can't even say it when his father can't afford something?"

It wasn't meant to sting, Remus didn't think, but of course it did; of course his eyes winced away from Sirius and back down to the blankets, of course his face and throat burned unpleasantly. The words in Sirius's voice seemed to echo over and over in his ears. Eventually Sirius took a breath again, though, one that sounded slightly unsteady. "Sorry," Sirius said, in a low mutter that made it clear how unaccustomed he was to even offering that much. "I'm just saying -- it's not that simple."

"I guess not," Remus said, softly. There was another pause, and then Sirius's weight shifted, restlessly.

"And it'd be a hell of a lot easier if _James_ weren't taking the piss about it every time I turn _around_ ," he said -- spitting it out, more like, his voice a sudden growl. "Yeah, ha ha, my brother's a great stinking Slytherin, we all _get_ it. What the hell am _I_ supposed to do about it?"

"He's -- not." That, at least, finally made Sirius look over frowning at him, and Remus dropped his eyes away. Feeling suddenly awkward, if only for how recently he'd been thinking very nearly the exact same things. "...He's not trying to tease you, Sirius. He's been trying to cheer you up."

Sirius was staring at him, more than ever. "...Well, then he's got a bloody funny way of going about it." Remus couldn't help a wan smile of agreement, but shook his head all the same.

"Well... you know what James is like. He doesn't think that hard about things. If you say you hate someone, then he'll think he needs to hex them into tiny bits to please you. There's... not that much more to it than that, for him."

Sirius stayed frowning for a moment or two after this, looking like he might try to argue... and then gradually his expression first darkened and then softened, a confused complexity of emotions going through his downcast eyes. At the end of all of them, finally, he just looked embarassed, awkward, and a little happier than he had been at any point thus far in the school year. Remus supposed that, all told, that was probably the best that he could have hoped for.

"...He is a bit thick, isn't he?" he said at last, half-choking it with weak, helpless laughter. Remus joined in in spite of himself, ducking down his head. Sirius tapered off after a moment, though, shaking his head and grinning sheepishly to himself. "Hell. I ought to make up with him, I guess. Was he really hacked off?"

"A little," Remus allowed. And, through a great act of self-restraint, did not add, _But I think he was angrier that you talk to me about this sort of thing, but apparently not him._ It felt like sneaking, for one thing, and for another it was hard to predict how Sirius would react: with another fond, laughing dismissal, or with a fresh towering rage. "Mostly I think he's just -- confused."

But that won him a response he hadn't expected, as he found when he glanced up again: Sirius looking over at hiim with an odd, soft, thoughtful expression he could only partly interpret.

"Brothers are bloody awful, aren't they?" was all he said about it, though, with a tiny smile after a moment. Remus smiled back down at the bed again, not meeting his eyes.

"Sometimes, yes. ...I'm the youngest, though, and not the oldest, so I expect it's a bit different."

"Well. Even so." Sirius was quiet for another moment or two -- and then managed to catch Remus's eye, and smiled at him, with that rare unaffected warmth that had an unfortunate habit of tying Remus's stomach up in a warm knot and making his head come over hot and flushy. "...Thanks. I really mean it."

"You're welcome," Remus said, barely above a whisper; he couldn't seem to do much better, with his eyes trapped staring back into Sirius's like he'd been caught by a cobra. The dim red light through the hangings only gave Sirius's already attractive features a certain romantic softness, and a momentary flash lanced through Remus's mind that seemed to make him go hot and cold at once: what it would be like to kiss Sirius, to lean across the meager space left in between them in the darkness of Sirius's bed and steal a taste of his smooth, full, slightly pouting mouth. What would that feel like -- the startled openness of his lips, the warm, hard compactness of his shoulder under his shirt, beneath Remus's hand? God help him, what if Sirius kissed _back_?

He finally tore himself free, with more ferocity than he might have liked it to take, a moment later. And stared at the bed again, hoping that that the reddish quality of the light would serve to disguise his blush.

\---

And that might have been the end of it, at least for the time being -- if Regulus hadn't turned up for breakfast two days later looking hunched and hunted, and with his ducked-down head not quite disguising his black eye and ring of crusted blood around one nostril.

Sirius stopped mid-step, a few paces yet from the entrance of the Great Hall, when Reg rushed by ahead of him on his way in. For a second or two he couldn't even credit what he had seen: his face numb, a sick hole seeming to open up in his chest. Then he was striding forward, fast as he could, to catch Reg by the arm.

"Oi! Reg -- " Reg tried to shake him off, without turning his head, but Sirius had outweighed him by at least twenty pounds their whole lives; he kept his grip and even pulled Reg round to face him, giving him his first really good look at the damage. He liked it no better than his previous one. Broken blood vessels radiated out like spokes from the side of Reg's nose and beneath his eye, and the eye itself was half-closed and looked bloody inside. Had he even been to Madam Pomfrey? "What happened to you?"

"Get _off_ me," Reg snarled, and jerked his arm again, this time with such violence that Sirius was startled into loosing his grip and Reg was able to yank away. He'd never once met Sirius's eyes, and his face was set in rigid, furious lines. "Leave me _alone_. Just stay away from me."

" _Reg --_ "

But it was no good. Reg had already turned away again, and stormed back into the throng of breakfast-bound students, his head down like a bull's. He made his way over to the Slytherin table to sit down, only to pull up short and have to go sit at the emptier end instead when a couple of older girls plainly refused to push over for him. Sirius watched Reg's back for a moment, brow creased: a small figure sitting alone with so much space to either side of him he might as well have been a plague-bearer, grimly piling his plate with food he then only stared at.

He was glad he'd been running late that morning, and his friends were already seated and eating; he didn't think he could have stood to face more of James's misguided attempts to jolly him out of it, or Peter's avidly curious puzzlement, or even Remus's watchful, far-too-insightful frown. He stayed where he was a long moment, thinking, and then made his slow way over to the Gryffindor table, and sat down next to James murmuring greetings and still looking over his shoulder. When he turned back, though, Remus was frowning at him anyway.

"Sirius? Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Sirius said, almost in a mutter, settling and refusing to allow himself another glance. "I'm fine."

Remus didn't look convinced, but didn't say anything else, either. The conversation fell back onto the rails it had been on before: James the center of it as usual, going over their new schedule and holding forth about which classes were going to be easiest to skive off in. Sirius contributed little, and kept his eyes on his food, which he wanted very little himself; it at least kept him from turning around again, looking at the Slytherin table again, while any of them were watching.

They had all been mostly finished by the time he'd arrived, anyway, and when Sirius was halfway done eating James leaned back from the table, starting to collect his things. "Best hurry it up," he advised Sirius, rooting around in his bag. "We've got our first Care of Magical Creatures lesson first, I know how you like messing about with animals."

There was a heavy-handed enough edge of double meaning on that that he would have given James a withering look at any other time, especially with Remus sitting right there. James thought Care of Magical Creatures might help them get a better handle on animal physiology and behavior and thus help with their side project -- had said so several times before they'd split up for the summer. Sirius personally thought Transfiguration was going to be the real help if any of their classes were, but hadn't cared to argue the point. Now, though, he only nodded absently, and made a flapping gesture at the rest of them as he kept making himself eat toast. "You all go on ahead. I'll catch up."

"We haven't got long -- " Peter began, looking worried, but Sirius shook his head.

"I'll catch up," he repeated, finally lifting his head to look around at them: James surprised, Peter confused, Remus thoughtful and considering. "Really. It's my own fault, I don't want to make you all late."

James blinked. "Since when do you care if I'm late or not? What are you, my mum?"

"Or maybe I just want to _eat in peace_ ," Sirius nearly snarled, which at least got them all backing off a little. "I'll _be_ there, you're not _my_ mum either."

"Should hope not," James said, with a good cheer that was probably only slightly forced. "All right, then, lads? Let's go soothe some savage beasts."

" _How_ savage, d'you think?" Peter started to ask, sounding anxious, but by then they were already leaving, and James's reply was lost to Sirius's ears (and just as well, probably). All he caught was Remus glancing over his shoulder at _him_ , frowning; and then the three of them were out the door and away.

Once they had gone, Sirius pushed his plate away at once, and turned around on the bench. Not even bothering, now, to hide that he was watching the Slytherin table closely. And then, when the person he'd been looking at got up and left, Sirius did too, and followed.

Sirius caught up to him when he'd just mounted the stairs in the front hallway, calling up from their foot. "Oi. Sni -- " He stopped himself, though, before the rest of the name he'd started to say could come out, then gritted his teeth and tried again. " _Snape._ "

Severus Snape stopped with his foot on the next riser, and looked down at Sirius with cold, flat dislike. He took his time at it before speaking. "What do _you_ want, Black?"

"A word." Sirius jerked his head, indicating a path to the foot of the stairs from where Snape was, but Snape didn't move. Sirius sighed, and finally just pushed on, coming in closer to the balustrade. "What happened to my brother? How'd he get thrashed like that?"

Snape watched him for another silent moment, this time pushing him almost to the point of bursting with frustration. "Why should I know, or care?"

Sirius's teeth clicked together in his head; his fists balled at his sides. Fury hazed his vision, but when he finally managed to unlock his teeth enough to speak, he was able to keep his voice low. "You'd _know_ because you're in his bloody _House_ , obviously. Unless he went off larking about in Hufflepuff after his lessons yesterday or something. And I _thought_ you might care because he's a _kid_ , and I thought maybe every now and then you might actually have _human feelings_ under all the slime -- ugh, forget it -- "

"Black," Snape called after him, though, when he'd gotten no more than five steps away -- surprising him, to be honest. And frankly from the sound of it, it might have surprised Snape a bit as well. Sirius turned, and found Snape first hesitating on the stairs, looking after him, and then coming back down and over to face him. They regarded each other with mutual distaste for a moment; and then Snape said, with a touch of impatience, "Isn't it obvious?"

Sirius frowned at him, through his glare. "Isn't _what_?"

"What happened to your brother." Definitely impatient now. Sirius just kept frowning at him, though, and Snape sighed, folding his arms. " _You_ did, Black. You've made a real name for yourself, just like I'm sure you wanted. Everyone in Slytherin knows about you -- getting Sorted into Gryffindor, turning against all the best families and throwing away everything your parents have worked for, hanging round with a Muggle-lover and a watery-blooded mongrel -- "

"Don't you _dare_ talk about Remus like that!" Sirius snapped -- nearly _shouted_ , and honestly more shaken by that last choice of words than even by the insult. Did Snape _suspect_ \-- ? He surged forward toward Snape without thinking; Snape took a step back to compensate, though, staying just out of his easy reach.

"I'm only _quoting_ , you twit," he said, but in a pedantic, absent way that suggested he didn't exactly disagree with the source, either. "That's what they say about _you_ , when they can be bothered to talk about you at all. So how did you think they'd feel about your brother, starting out in Slytherin with the same name as a blood traitor?"

Sirius stared at him for long moments, his temples thudding. "You're saying it's because of me," he said finally, not a question.

"I'm saying," Snape corrected him with evident relish, "that it's _your fault_. And you might've thought of that, if you hadn't been in such a rush to prove how different and special you are."

"I didn't _ask_ to be put in Gryffindor!" His voice cranking up toward a shout again -- and then dying back, at the end of the sentence, as suddenly he could no longer look Snape in the eye. And all of it because... well, that wasn't exactly _true_ , was it? You might even call it a total, knowing lie.

His face heated in spite of himself, and he glared at the floor. Snape said nothing, but didn't leave, either. Just standing there gloating, no doubt, although he couldn't yet bring himself to look up and check.

He only did manage when a new thought occurred to him -- hot and fury-red, snapping his head back up in a fresh glower. "What about _you_ , then?"

Snape looked back at him, mouth set, eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Did you help out, while it was going on?" He took another step forward, and again Snape matched it backward, to his grim amusement. Snape was decent with hexes, he'd give him that, but must have realised that in this mood Sirius might well just punch him before he got a chance to get his wand out, and Sirius was considerably bigger. "I don't reckon you'd hit very hard, but you could probably at least hold down an eleven-year-old while someone else went after him. So did you?" He took another step, although this time Snape held his ground; then again, by now his back was nearly up against the stairs. "Did you help all your brave hero friends beat my little brother up?"

Snape didn't answer right away, but he was giving Sirius an odd look by the time he'd finished: cold, sour, and faintly disbelieving, as though Sirius had said something incredibly stupid that had nonetheless wounded. After a second or two, though, his expression shuttered more tightly until only the chilly remoteness remained; and all he said was, "I happen to think being related to you is punishment enough."

For a moment neither of them said anything more. Then Sirius shook it off as best he could, focusing his glare again. "Then who was it? Who hit him?"

"Why?" Sneering openly now, all contempt. "So you can go thrash _them_ right back? Is that your idea of a solution?"

Sirius folded his own arms, meeting Snape's look. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"Whether I do or not, your brother might." When Sirius just glared at him harder, he rolled his eyes. "Do you really think that'll _help_ him? Can you possibly be _that_ stupid? What happens after that? Do you really think it'll make him more popular to have _you_ picking fights to defend him?"

Sirius raised his arms and let them flap down to his sides, hard enough to make a report that echoed in the stone hallway. "Well, what the hell am I _supposed_ to do?"

Snape sighed. "Black, I couldn't possibly care less what happens to you _or_ your brother. But if you really want my advice -- "

"I wouldn't go _that_ far."

" -- then if you really care about looking after him, the best thing you could do is _nothing_ ," Snape finished anyway, doggedly. When Sirius frowned at him, his mouth twisted in a brief, unpleasant smirk. "Stay well clear of him, don't talk to him, and don't let anyone see the two of you together. Eventually, they'll probably leave him alone; your _family_ does still have a good reputation, at least. But if you hang about trying to protect him, I can promise you, all you'll be doing is making absolutely sure they _never_ will."

Sirius stared at him for a while longer. His jaw worked, the muscle in it aching to open it and say something else; but as hard as he tried, he couldn't think of anything, couldn't come up with anything. His head felt hollow and numb. He was suddenly much too tired for any of this -- and now he was going to be late to class in the bargain.

"Piss off, Snivellus," he muttered, and turned around, hiking up his bag. Heading for the door out to the grounds.

"You're welcome," Snape called after him, his voice ringing in the stone throat of the front hall; but Sirius never turned, and apart from that muscle tightening again in his jaw, never even gave any sign that he had heard.

\---

"Excuse me. Lupin, isn't it?"

The voice was both unknown and, somehow, eerily familiar. Remus glanced up from his breakfast, past the startled looks of his friends, to the boy who was standing behind and over him -- and then blinked himself. It was Sirius's brother, Regulus, and looking in somewhat better shape than he had for much of the past week: hair and Slytherin robes extremely neat, bruises on his face fading (Remus wasn't sure what'd happened there, possibly some sort of accident?), a slight, polite smile on his lips. There were a couple of other Slytherin first-years standing behind him, muttering and snickering to each other, but Remus ended up almost smiling back at him just by reflex. His smile looked very much like Sirius's, if not so strong around the eyes.

"Yes?" he said. He was dimly aware of Sirius, sitting next to James across the table, turning sharply on both of them; but by then, it was already too late.

"We were just wondering," Regulus said, still with that slight smile, gesturing around to the lot behind him. "Is it true that your bloodline's such a muddle that you don't actually _know_ if you're Muggle-born or not?"

The boys clustered around his back erupted into laughter. Remus froze where he was, staring up, his hand still on his fork. Regulus's smile was still in place, but all urge to answer it had died.

"I'm sorry?" he started to say, in a dusty, dry voice, but Regulus was already talking over him.

"Because, honestly, I can't even imagine how you can still show your face. Your own mother, being a Squib. If things like this are going to happen, they ought to stop them breeding, don't you think?"

His friends outright _hooted_ laughter this time, leaning on each other for support; one of them clapped Regulus on the shoulder, which both widened his smile and seemed to boost his confidence. His eyes never left Remus -- who, by this point, was well beyond moving, or saying anything.

"Imagine, not even knowing if you're a Mudblood or not," he said, softly this time. "But I suppose you might as well just do yourself in, just in case."

This last, though, was almost covered over by the clatter of James jumping to his feet, upsetting two bowls of sausages and a flagon of pumpkin juice in the process. " _Oi!_ " he roared -- and Remus was dimly horrified to see he had his wand out, dimly aware of Professor McGonagall already leaping up from the staff table to rush over with her lips pressed grimly together. "That is _it_! I've bloody well _had_ it with you, you little git -- "

" _James_ \-- " Sirius started to snap at him, and then James had wheeled on _him_. He'd at least lowered his wand, though. When Remus finally managed a numb glance in that direction, he found Sirius not so much pale as an ill yellow colour, his face frozen and masklike, clinging to fistfuls of his robes over his thighs in two hard fists.

"And I've had it with _you_ , too, if you're going to stick up for him! You listen to me, Black -- " back to Regulus now -- " _Nobody_ talks like that around me, _ever_. I don't care _who_ your brother is, you try it again and I'll jinx you into bits and then jinx the bits!"

"I should say _not,_ Potter," Professor McGonagall's voice said then, though, interrupting James; she'd just arrived from behind, and was glaring from James to Regulus with what looked like about equal disgust. " _That will do._ Wand away, and sit down, if you please. Black, kindly return to your own House table, so that perhaps we can all finish our breakfast in peace."

_All_ wasn't an overstatement, either, Remus realised with sudden sick dismay: the Great Hall had gone nearly silent around them while he'd been distracted, and when he glanced around he saw practically everyone else at the tables was looking at them. He sank down a little on the bench, trying to slouch out of sight, feeling dull heat in his face. James followed instructions, though, giving Regulus an ugly, stormy look all the while. But Regulus lingered for a second, after Professor McGonagall had gone -- now turning that little smile (which had gone hard at the edges) on James, instead.

"Well, I'm sorry to say it, but we've got one thing in common then, Potter," he said, as though no one else had spoken. " _I_ don't care who my brother is, either."

The other Slytherins behind him grinned to each other; and then only silence. Finally, it was Sirius who spoke: his hands still locked under the table, his eyes fixed straight ahead at nothing instead of rising to his brother's face.

"Piss off, toad," he said clearly, though. "Or do you want mummy sending _you_ Howlers, for _talking_ to Gryffindors?"

Regulus's gaze fixed on Sirius next... and his mouth spread in a slow, ugly _sneer_ , unlike any expression Remus had seen on him before. For the first time, too, Remus could no longer see any resemblance between him and Sirius; with that look on his face, the person he suddenly _really_ looked like was Evan Rosier, with whom James had scuffled a time or two -- or perhaps like that Slytherin prefect Malfoy, whom even Remus had been extremely relieved to see graduate last year. ...And, well, of course he _would_ look like them, wouldn't he? They were all cousins, after all. Somehow, even though Sirius had told him, Remus had never quite fully appreciated that fact until now.

But finally, Regulus turned away with that sneer still on his face, the rest of the Slytherins clustering around and going with him. And then they were left alone: with James fuming, Peter goggling, Remus staring down at the table until his eyes watered... and Sirius, now that Regulus was gone, seeming to just fold in on himself. Like there was a weight on him, right now, that was far too much to bear.

\---

The first full moon of the year went badly, too; worse even than the ones over the summer, which he'd played down to Sirius somewhat to keep from upsetting him. Given the state of things with Sirius's brother, it had rather snuck up on Remus, and it gave him the old, wearily familiar jolt Wednesday morning to remember why his bones were aching and his teeth felt so on edge. Well, the nights weren't too long just yet, he found himself reasoning hopefully, as the day went by... but he woke up late Thursday morning bleary and weak with pain, and with Madam Pomfrey already tutting furiously over his concussion and sprained ankle. Apparently, his wolf form had discovered the stress relief of hurling itself into walls instead of just chewing its paws and flanks, and had made such an unearthly racket that he'd terrified Hogsmeade into a fresh flood of ghost rumors. The latter really came as little consolation, though, in the face of the former. He was bound to the hospital wing for days afterward, made to sleep sitting up, his head hurting murderously and with a bin by his bed for sick. Even when his friends risked coming to visit him in hospital the day after, it didn't cheer him up much; James and Peter were going out of their way to be falsely cheery for his benefit, and Sirius was not just still subdued, but actually kept falling asleep in his chair. The whole thing actually just left him in a sourer mood than ever, made no better by its accompanying twinges of guilt.

By Friday afternoon he was well enough to start doing his homework, if not yet to leave the hospital wing -- which also wasn't much of a comfort -- and he was working moodily on Charms when the door to the ward creaked open. Remus glanced up, frowning, but couldn't see much; there was a screen still pulled partially in front of his bed, between him and the door. "Madam Pomfrey?" a boy's voice called, from the other side of it.

"She's in the Transfiguration classroom, someone turned their hand into a hedge clipper," Remus called back, lowering his head to his work again. It was a grey, dingy sort of day, the low clouds outside making the words in his textbook seem to swim together and worsen his headache. "She said she'd be back in a few minutes."

The person on the other side of the screen made some indistinct sound, and then there were more footsteps; and then a head poked, frowning, around where the screen was half moved aside. And Remus's stomach seemed to squelch in on itself, wringing itself dry. The head and the voice belonged -- of all the luck -- to Regulus Black.

For his part, though, Regulus looked at least as surprised and dismayed to see Remus as Remus was to see him. "Oh," he said, stopping where he was, and his eyes dropped away from where Remus sat almost at once. "...Er."

"She'll be back in a moment," Remus repeated, more quietly. His textbook was still open on his lap, and he tried to force his attention back to it. "If you don't want to wait here, I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you went to find her."

"I'll wait," Regulus said. Remus didn't look up, but he thought Regulus's voice sounded much different today than it had the last time Remus had heard it. The sneer under a thin veneer of politeness was gone; now Regulus just sounded nonplussed, and honestly rather meek. Well, maybe he wasn't so brave without a pack of friends to back him up. That seemed to be true of a lot of the Slytherins Remus had observed.

He thought Regulus would go over to the visitors' chairs by the entrance, but when he didn't hear movement, he gave in to the urge to look up again. Sure enough, Regulus was still hovering where he had been, peering at Remus around the screen. Remus's brow knitted, in spite of himself -- but before he could say anything, Regulus beat him to it.

"What happened to you?" he asked, gesturing to the bandages still wrapped around Remus's head. Remus sighed very slightly.

"I fell on the stairs and hit my head." He'd long since decided that making up any kind of involved stories to explain his injuries would be stupid, and the simplest possible explanation best; but it did have the disadvantage of people snickering at him a lot. To his surprise, though, Regulus didn't -- just nodded, and even twisted one side of his mouth into what might have been a sympathetic wince.

"I just came up to get Madam Pomfrey to give me an excuse, so I can skive off," he said, with more apparent pride than rue. "I brought this snuffbox full of Wartcap Powder from home, thought I'd let it bite me and then show her." Remus nodded, noncommittally. He wasn't quite sure how to respond to that -- either the information or the relatively friendly way Regulus seemed suddenly to be talking to him. He assumed, though, that a reproachful look would go over about as well with Regulus as it ever did with his brother. Regulus didn't much seem to want an answer anyway; he had already gone quiet, apparently thinking. And when he finally looked up at Remus, there _was_ something like a sheepish look in his eyes.

"Listen, erm..." Regulus started out, and then hesitated a moment before coming fully around the screen to its other side. "I'm sorry. ...About all that the other day."

Remus could only look at him, for a long while. "Are you?" he asked, even more quietly, after a full minute. Keeping his voice neutral and steady. Regulus bit his lip, and looked down. Suddenly he didn't look at all arrogant, or even slightly like Rosier or Malfoy -- or Sirius, for that matter. He just looked very young, and uncertain, and unhappy.

"Yeah," he said, though. "It's nothing personal, just..." He seemed to lose his thread there, and sighed. "I just knew that stuff because Sirius talks about you a lot. And I had to do _something_ , to show I'm not like him. ...Sorry you got dragged into it, though."

Remus tried very hard not to hang up on the point about Sirius having talked about him. "...If you're sorry for what you said, why would you even want friends like those?"

Regulus snorted and folded his arms, his eyes still turned away from Remus. "They're not my friends," he said, his voice low. "They're _idiots_. I hate them, and they don't like me either. They only want to hang around with me because of who my parents are."

Remus blinked. "Then why do you care what they think of you?"

"I don't care what they _think_ , I care what they _do_." Regulus wandered forward even further, and then just huffed down to sit on the end of Remus's bed, with a lack of decorum that also called Sirius rather forcibly to mind. "I got tired of them ganging up and beating up on me, that's all. At least if I pick on people for not being pure-blooded now and then, they'll leave me alone."

Well, that explained the bruises, finally. Remus found himself rather taken aback, and having to consider all that from all angles. What might _he_ have done, in Regulus's place? ...Could he honestly say he had any room to judge someone, for being willing to go to any desperate lengths to fit in?

"I don't really want to be like them," Regulus said after a moment, though, without waiting for a response. "But... I want to be like Sirius even less." Remus glanced at his face, startled, and Regulus looked down before meeting his eyes. There was a slight smile twisting his mouth when he did, cynical in a way that was far too old for him. "Has he told you about our mother?" Remus nodded, and Regulus nodded back, looking down again. "He thinks because she shouts at him, she doesn't care about him. ...He thinks _I'm_ her favorite." A small, humourless laugh. "He's an idiot. At least she _bothers_ shouting at him."

Regulus took a breath, then let it out, long and slow and ruffling up his fringe from his forehead. " _Everyone_ loves Sirius. Even when he does _everything_ wrong, even when he messes _everything_ up, they _still_ love him. Enough they want to _fix_ him -- all the time, no matter what he does." He thought about this for a moment, then sighed. "Anything he does, at least he knows she'll always take him back. She'll be _angry_ , yeah, she might shout at him or throw stuff or lock him in his room, but she'll still _want_ him. But if _I_ did it..." He trailed off, and then scowled down at his folded hands. "If _I'd_ been the one to get put into Gryffindor, I don't think she'd have even bothered sending a Howler. ...Or anything else." His shoulders sank in a little, toward his lap. "Sirius does everything wrong, and she still cares about making him stop no matter how many times he does it, because he's like _her_ \-- he's stubborn and clever and he does whatever he wants and thinks he's the center of everything, and he always gets his way. ... _I_ do everything _mum_ wants, and she doesn't even notice I'm _alive_ , as long as Sirius is around. And then when he's not, he's all she can talk about. Sirius this and Sirius that, and what a disgrace Sirius is, and what are we going to do about Sirius."

He lapsed into silence there, for a moment, staring with a taut frown down at his folded hands on his lap, but Remus couldn't think of a single thing to say. He just sat, staring at Regulus in turn, taken entirely aback -- not just by the information itself, but still by the very fact of Regulus telling him all this. Eventually, anyway, Regulus looked back up at him: that small, surprisingly cynical smile twisting again at one corner of his lips.

"And I know Sirius thinks it's all about me doing what she wants, but that's not all of it either," he said. "Even if it weren't for her -- I _don't_ want to be like Sirius. ...I don't care what those twits think, he's still my brother -- I don't hate him, or anything. But... I don't really _like_ him, either, a lot of the time." He watched Remus's expression, as he said this and as he went on, as though to gauge his reaction; although for his part, Remus still had no idea how to react. "I know he's your friend, but -- look, that's why I think you ought to know about him, if you don't already. He's got an awful temper, he gets angry about _everything_ , for no reason. And he's horrible when he is -- as bad as mum. Not just to me, either; you should see the way he treats our house-elf, it's no wonder Kreacher hates him. He's nasty to our whole family all the time now, and it's not because anyone's _done_ anything -- just that he wants that Potter git to like him." Still watching Remus's eyes, wary, with the air of someone breaking bad news. "He never thinks about anyone but himself. It might seem like he does, for a while, but it always comes back to being about him in the end. ...Because he's what it's been about for everybody _around_ him for so long, I suppose. Everybody thinks he's the most important thing around, so he does too. I don't... think he even notices other people are _people_ , a lot of the time."

...None of this, exactly, was anything that Remus had failed to suspect of Sirius, to some degree, on his own. Maybe not in those words, not so harshly, but all the same... but right now, he found that that thought only made him suddenly annoyed with Regulus -- a little angry, even. He at least didn't want to hear any of it from a boy who had told him in public, not a week before, that he might as well kill himself over who his mother was, to impress a bunch of people he didn't even like.

"Sirius has always been really nice to me," he said, breaking off Regulus's stream at once. And neither of them could miss the slight steely note in his voice: cold and final.

Regulus faltered, his eyes widening slightly, and then looked down. But when he raised his head again, he no longer looked surprised; and that tiny, cynical smile was back on his lips, touched now with a look of what might have been chagrin.

"Well... I suppose he might be to _you_ ," he said. "You're not family."

And once again, Remus had no idea how to respond to that.

After a moment, though, Regulus got up from the end of the bed, turning to stand in front of it again. "Doesn't seem like she's coming back, does it?" he said, looking at the ground; and it was probably too much to hope for that he sounded a bit sheepish. "I... think I'll just go find her." Remus nodded, and after a moment Regulus bit his lip again, fidgeting. "Er... thanks. You know, for..." But he trailed off there, and seemed to lose his thread, and finally let it go. "And, um. ...Don't tell anyone I apologized to you, all right?"

"Your secret's safe," Remus agreed, with a cynical little twist of his own; but he found his anger had gone, just as quickly as it had come in the first place. All that seemed to be left was pity.

Regulus nodded his thanks, and hovered a moment more, and then just left, awkwardly. From beyond the screen by his bed, Remus heard the hospital wing door open and boom shut again; and then there was only silence, and his homework, and two more days ahead of him before he could go back to catch up with his lessons, and rejoin the non-werewolf world.

He wasn't sure, then or later on, what to make of what Regulus had told him; if Regulus had actually been concerned about him, or just wanted someone to vent his feelings about Sirius on. He even wondered if Regulus had actually meant his apology, had actually regretted or disbelieved anything he had said, or if he had just felt too awkward when faced with his target later on to be able to bear it in silence. ...Well, it didn't matter either way, he supposed. By the time he came back from being in hospital, Sirius and his brother had taken to ignoring each other completely, and that seemed to be working out for the best for both of them.

But one way or another, although the Slytherin first-years seemed to find plenty of people to snicker and snipe at thereafter, Regulus never said anything like that to Remus again.

\---

As long as he took recovering from the first full moon, Remus felt as though he'd no sooner gotten over it than the next was looming, and the impression wasn't helped by how Sirius began bombarding him with questions about it almost as soon as he'd gotten out of the hospital wing. As frustrating as that was, though, Remus found he couldn't really begrudge him; it wasn't like he didn't understand completely where this sudden deluge of protectiveness for him was coming from, after all. ...Although the connections it implied in Sirius's mind _were_ a bit depressing, for a lot of reasons Remus wouldn't have admitted under torture.

Only after full days of constant wheedling did he finally crack, and consent one night to show Sirius -- and ultimately the others, when James demanded to know what they wanted his Invisibility Cloak for -- the way under the Willow and to the Shrieking Shack. They made suitably impressed noises when he stuck his hand out of the cloak to prod the knot in the trunk (the tree hadn't seemed aware of them under it as they approached, for a blessing), and gawked around with lit wands all the way down the passageway, James and Peter crowing over how cool it was to each other. Remus hunched his way along beside them with his hot face ducked down, and tried not to hear or hate them. They didn't understand, that was all, he recited to himself again and again inside his head; they shouldn't _have_ to. He wouldn't want them to. It wasn't their fault they didn't know.

But at least Sirius wasn't saying anything like that, or even anything at all; just following him silently, his eyes wide and watchful as he took everything in.

"Do you do this by yourself every month?" he asked as Remus led them through the opening into the Shack, though, in a soft awed voice that didn't help much. Remus thinned his lips as he shook his head, and didn't look around.

"Madam Pomfrey comes with me. Most times, anyway, unless she's really busy." He went in ahead, not looking back at them, and they followed out the end of the passageway in an unfamiliar thunder of tromping feet. "She's been trying me on potions and things lately, to try to make it easier, although it hasn't really been working. She says -- now I'm, you know, growing up, it's going to get... well. Worse."

Sirius frowned over at him, from where he'd been turning a slow circle round the dusty front parlor. "Worse how? ...How do you always get hurt, anyway?"

Remus shrugged, with a casualness he of course didn't feel. "I do it to myself." He kept his eyes carefully elsewhere, rather than checking any of their reactions to that. "Scratching or biting at myself, or ramming myself into things. I guess she thinks I'm going to do it more, or get better at it, or something." He hesitated a moment, then pointed at the stairs, resigned. "It's -- upstairs. Where I change."

And the upstairs bedroom, at least, finally seemed to shock away all comments about how brilliant it was that Remus got to come to such a secret place so far from school, leaving the other three stunned and silent for long moments instead. It wasn't, however, much of an improvement, now that it was here. Remus stood with his head down again, his arms crossed over his chest, as they slowly got over their initial pause and ventured into the room, exploring its battered depths. James got as far as the first deep gouge in the floorboards -- at least some three inches deep, exposing shocking-white wood within its wound, and unmistakably claw-shaped -- and then stopped before his trainer could cover it, staring down with eyes visibly widening behind his glasses. He bumped them up as he turned his head to gape at Remus, pointing down at the mark. "Was that -- "

"Me," Remus agreed, without even really looking where he was pointing. Peter stopped what he was doing to look round, and when his eyes caught on where James was looking, he made a small involuntary noise and actually took a step back. Remus lifted one arm and spread it around him, in a hopeless defeated gesture. "It was _all_ me. Who else?"

"Bloody hell," James breathed, and went to one knee, his cloak tucked under one arm, to lay his hand over the claw-mark. His palm fit almost entirely within it.

Sudden warmth touched Remus's back, and he started and then looked up to see Sirius standing just behind his shoulder, his hand the one that rested between Remus's shoulderblades. Remus looked away again, his brow creasing, not shrugging away but not really wanting it either. He didn't want to be comforted; he didn't want them here at all. It had been a kind of relief, yes, strange and giddy, to actually talk about it with all of them after the truth had first come out -- even a kind of uncomfortable pleasure for Sirius to ask him about his full moons over the summer when they saw each other again, saying the very things that had been thus far in his life unsayable. But this, bringing them _here_ , James's hand touched to the place his own claws had ripped up not a year ago... it seemed suddenly like far too much, too fast. All the times he'd sat stripped to his skin, alone in this room, seemed like nothing to how naked he felt now.

"How long does it last, each time?" Sirius asked, quietly, as James was pushing himself back up and starting to wander around again. Remus bit his lip, still looking away.

"It depends on the time of year. Really long in the winter, not as long in the spring and fall." He shrugged, half-hoping it would dislodge Sirius's hand anyway, and after a moment Sirius did let it fall away. "Moonrise to the start of sunrise, is how it works. Only I have to come down a long time before, to make sure I'm here in time, and Madam Pomfrey only comes to get me well after the sun's up. So it's safe for her, and all."

Sirius was frowning at him, he was faintly aware, although he didn't raise his head long enough for a good look. "...Isn't that a little overboard, though? I mean, if you're always getting hurt -- what if you'd hurt yourself really badly?"

"I wouldn't want to hurt _her_ really badly, too," Remus said; and shrugged again when that only deepened Sirius's frown. "It's not perfect. But there's really only so much anybody can do."

Sirius made a thin, dark sound at that, but only took a step or two forward, watching James and Peter look around the place and take it all in. He didn't seem much surprised by any of it himself, although Remus wasn't sure what to make of that.

"It's not fair," he said, after a long moment's silence. Remus glanced over at him, but Sirius wasn't looking at him; he was staring out across the room, at the boarded window where only a few dark cracks of the blessedly moonless night showed through. There was a hard, pinched line between Sirius's brows, a stubborn set to the line of his jaw like he meant to start a fight with the whole Shack itself, as though he could fix something by hexing or hitting it. "It's not fair that you've got to do this when nobody else does. Without anybody knowing about it, or doing anything to help."

That last wasn't true in the slightest, honestly, but it didn't seem worth arguing the point. For a moment, in fact, Remus couldn't seem to bring himself to say much of anything at all; he just stood staring at the side of Sirius's face, clenched up in that fierce, angry tightness. Thinking, against his will, about what Regulus had said about Sirius, and hating himself for the faint cramp of doubt now at the back of his mind.

"It's just the way it is," Remus said at last, softly. And although Sirius didn't turn to look at him, that crease in his brow tightened, just slightly.

All things considered, he would think later, he really should have seen it coming.

\---

At this time of the morning, it was cold even for October -- colder even here than it had been out on the grounds. When Sirius rucked the Invisibility Cloak off over his head, he could at once see his breath in the air, a thin smoky ribbon caught in the cracks of bluish dawnlight from the boarded windows. His teeth chattered on and off as he rolled up the cloak under his arm -- James would murder him if he let even a corner of it drag, especially since he hadn't borrowed it this time with _permission_ in the strictest sense of the word -- and mounted the stairs, trying to mute their creaking under his feet for no good reason. It was silent in the Shrieking Shack, the air so thick with dust it was hard to breathe. The thought of Remus being stuck here _alone_ on mornings like this, month after month, hit him all over again out of nowhere, made his chest clench up on itself inside him.

The door to the bedroom gave him pause; it was locked from the outside, in a long line of heavy deadbolts that he hadn't noticed when Remus had brought them in here. Not much trouble to get through, maybe, but some to put right again before Madam Pomfrey came. Well, he'd worry about that when he had to. He muttered " _Alohomora_ " under his breath, passing his wand down them in one sweep, and all the clicking of their unfastening themselves made him wince. The door creaked under his hand as it opened, too, in spite of all his attempts to steady it --

And then it didn't matter; none of it mattered.

The room had been a mess the first time he'd seen it, but now it was a _disaster_. The piano sagged down on one broken leg; a storm of down fluttered from one shredded end of the mattress, in the rush of air from the door's opening. A few boards had been splintered in one of the walls and the floor. There were new gouge-marks in nearly _everything_ , it seemed like, everything from about halfway up the height of the room on downward. And all of this registered only dimly, because what he saw first and last, first and _only_ , was the blood.

There seemed to be blood _everywhere_. On the broken boards, on the shattered piano-leg, smeared on the walls, dripped on the floor. And in one spot, at one point, apparently _pooled_ on the floor -- and only apparently because now most of it was spread out into a long gory _smear_ , a person's-width trail of it up the clawed-up floorboards like an uneven swath of paint. Like it had been fallen into and then dragged through. In this light it looked nearly black, alien and poisonous. And at its end, at the furthest side of the room and thus nearly invisible in the dim, lying like a crumpled pile of white rags and blackish stains and brown hair --

"Remus?" Sirius whispered. Not wanting to speak, and unable to help himself. He could feel the huge wideness of his eyes, the slackness of his mouth, but not seem to change them. Remus had _told_ them, of course, had _said_ so, _I do it to myself, I guess she thinks I'm going to do it more,_ but he had never imagined -- never actually _pictured_ \--

The pile of rags twitched. It wasn't a pile of rags. There was a long, thin hand wrapped over one side, blood dripping between two of its fingers past the pale narrow plane of what could have been a back. The limbs folded up to one side at an odd angle -- part of one seemed to be at a _very_ odd angle, in fact, too odd to look at for long -- had to be long bony legs. What had made him look so crumpled, so strange, was how all his naked flesh was seamed with scars, old and white or newer and pink -- even on the uninjured parts of his body, the ones that didn't look shredded and raw. But there was only barely time to make sense of that before both hands -- those _familiar_ hands -- were scrabbling out on the floor, pushing up the rest of the body attached to them. Enough at least to crane his head back over his shoulder, showing the wide, feverish glitter of one eye, the other swelled shut and bloody, blood _everywhere_ , a fresh bleeding line cut right through the center of his puffed-up mouth --

" _Get out!_ " Remus shouted. _Screamed._ Rusty, hoarse, mad with hysteria, unrecognizable. He clawed himself up, in a jerky mess of flailing limbs, shoving backward into the wall behind him with his one uninjured leg. His face a stretching deathmask grimace, its good eye showing white all the way around. " _Get out, get out, what are you_ doing _here, get_ out _!_ "

Sirius was frozen. A statue. He couldn't seem to move forward or back, could barely gabble even his jaw open and shut. "I-I -- "

He didn't think the ragged, drilling howl Remus cut him off with even had words in it. Remus flung himself over to one side, clawed arm-over-arm at the bed, hurled a pillow off it at Sirius with such terrific lunatic force that if it had been something at all heavy, it would very likely have knocked him unconscious. Maybe dead. As it was it just whapped into his side and fell down, making him stumble back a step if only in surprise. That at least broke his paralysis; he lifted one numb, stupid hand toward Remus, reaching with no sense in it, just trying to reach out --

" _Get away from me, don't look at me!_ " But Remus had fallen off the side of the bed again and now just had his arms locked over his head, his knees dug up into his chest. He had left long bloody knee-marks across the floor throwing himself against the bed, and a stark, hellish red imprint on the white of the sheets where he'd fallen. " _Get_ out _of here, don't look at me! Get out!_ Get out _!_ "

"I'm -- I'm -- I'm sorry -- " The words came out more shaped by his mouth than as actual sounds; he couldn't tell if Remus could even hear him or not. He barely knew what he was saying. "I'm sorry -- I -- "

" _Get out!_ " Remus just screamed again -- and this time, horribly, it broke in the middle, into a stretched, sobbing stagger. And that, finally, was what broke Sirius's nerve, where all the rest had thus far failed; every word he had been about to try to begin died in his mouth, and he just turned and bolted, sprinting out of the room and back out to the staircase.

He slammed the door behind him, and somehow had the presence of mind to do up all the locks again, in spite of fingers that shook so badly he almost couldn't even grip them. He'd never have been able to do any sensible kind of magic, didn't even bother to get his wand out. Ran down the stairs, tripped at the bottom, fell hard enough on his side to make him bite his tongue and grunt a little cry. He hadn't even noticed before that his own face was wet, not until he puffed up dust when he hit the floor and it stuck in the tracks of the tears. He half-stumbled, half-crawled to the far wall of the downstairs sitting room, dragged himself around to set his back up to it, and sat there for a few seconds with his head leaned back on the boards, panting through clenched teeth, his stomach making such vicious knots he was sure he would throw up.

Finally he managed to move again instead: took a convulsive swallow of air and sat up away from the wall to fling James's cloak over himself, then wrapped his arms around his knees with his head down on them. He stayed there, not moving, as some thumping sounds he couldn't identify came from upstairs, and then the Shack went silent again; as Madam Pomfrey, some ten minutes later, came hurrying in from the passageway and went upstairs, undoing all the locks and disappearing inside; as maybe a half-hour later she passed him again with a hastily-dressed, somewhat cleaner Remus hanging insensate off her shoulders, his feet drifting along a few magicked inches off the ground. And he was still there long after they had gone, in exactly the same spot, never moving: well into a brightening Saturday morning, alone in the dim, dusty, boarded-up silence, unable to breathe and digging his nails into his opposite wrists until he had at least a few marks of his own.

\---

"I'm sorry," Remus said, again. He had lost count by now. His voice was soft already, and his knees in front of his mouth just quieted it down to the point where it was almost inaudible. "I really am."

There was no sound behind him, and when he risked craning over his shoulder to look he could still only see Sirius's curled-in back, the mess of his overlong hair on the pillow. Remus sighed a little, and turned on the bed to face him, without ever letting down his tucked-up legs. Sitting like this still hurt his right shin a little, but he didn't want to unfold himself, couldn't shake the instinct to hide. Sirius's wide, horrified, staring eyes seemed burned into his memory, had followed him into nightmares in his bed in the hospital wing. Even now, he could barely make himself think about it even enough to talk about it.

But when he'd returned at the end of the weekend, James had told him -- with a tone of disconcerted worry that shared a border with irritation -- that Sirius hadn't gotten out of bed or talked to anyone since the full moon. And he'd known he was going to _have_ to talk about it, all the same.

"Sirius?" No answer. He started to reach out his hand toward Sirius's shoulder, then thought better of it and took it back. His head dipped down, until his forehead rested on his knees instead. "It's what I've been trying to tell you," he said, even softer. Trying not to sound too reproachful. in spite of himself. "It's -- not safe. For _anyone_ to be around me, right then. I... I'm a little peculiar, for a while. After."

"You didn't try to bite me," Sirius's voice drifted over from the other side of him. It was heavily muffled -- like maybe he had his face buried in the pillow -- but the slight acid note was unmistakable. Remus flinched more by reflex than anything else, relaxed only slowly.

"Well... you were too far off, for one thing." Sirius didn't bother answering that. Remus sighed again, and opened his eyes to stare at the weave of his trousers, blurry from this close up. "...I'm really, really sorry. I didn't -- "

"Would you stop saying you're sorry?" It came over top of him, before he could finish or really even start: a little clearer, and with a little more heat, although Sirius's head was still turned away from him. Remus bit his tongue and looked away. A pause, and then a long exhale, and Sirius finally pushed up on one elbow, to look over his shoulder at Remus -- or at least somewhere around Remus's middle, not actually at _him_. He looked a mess: squinty and dark-circled around the eyes, jaw set in a stubborn, sullen jut, hair a fright and in his eyes. "I... look. I didn't... I shouldn't have come without asking you. I didn't know it'd... I just... it was stupid. So -- I had it coming. Forget that bit."

...It seemed churlish to agree with any of that, true or not, and Remus managed not to. "It's all right," he said, instead -- by reflex, again, more than any idea of whether it actually was or not. "I just... I really don't want to hurt you. I would never want anything to happen to you because of me. ...Or -- or to anyone."

"I didn't go in until well after sunrise," Sirius pointed out, still with a bit of an edge. He turned himself over at last so he was on his back, propped on both elbows. "I'm not _that_ stupid."

"I'm not saying you're _stupid_ \-- " Remus caught himself again, and sighed, rubbing his sore leg. "What did you even go there for in the first place? I thought I'd explained."

Sirius stared down at his bed, a muscle so tight it was visible in the side of his jaw. His voice was a truculent mutter. "I wanted to _help_."

"Well, you _can't_." That at least won a wounded glare, and it was Remus's turn this time to look down away from it, shrugging. " _Nobody_ can, except Madam Pomfrey. And even then."

"Then I just want to be there." Remus looked back up, frowning, and this time Sirius met his eyes. "I hate that you're hiding stuff about it from me. I _want_ to be involved. I want to _know_."

"Know what?" Remus asked, quietly. Feeling, as hard as he fought it, anger starting to coil into a red ball in his stomach again, wrapping around it like a constricting snake. "How horrible I look in the morning? Now you do." He finally let his knees drop, forcing himself to, sitting upright on the bed. "Should I describe what it's like for you? I can."

"You don't -- " Sirius started, cross himself all over again, but Remus interrupted him.

"It starts in your spine," he said, thin and edged, a touch of false brightness at first that quickly faded. "Like a shiver down it, when you get a chill. Then it spreads. Out into the rest of your bones, first the big ones like your arms and legs and then little ones, fingers and toes, and in your face." He was digging his fingers into the cloth over his thighs, he was dimly aware, barely even pausing to breathe. "It's the bones that change first, and the rest sort of follows along and wraps around them. So you can sort of feel how your skeleton is changing shape, when bits of it _dig_ into your -- "

Sirius exploded up onto his feet, in a sudden loud rumple of bedclothes and creak of springs. There was a sudden loud, crashing _thud_ from the far side of the bed that Remus couldn't see the source of for the curtains, but he thought it must have been the dresser, Sirius kicking or hitting it with all his strength. Remus closed his eyes, stopped mid-sentence. For a few dry seconds the dormitory room was completely silent, except for Sirius's harsh breathing and Remus's quiet.

"I don't want you to know about it," Remus said, finally, softer. The anger had gone as quickly as it had come; now he only felt tired and ill. He didn't _want_ to be cruel. His leg just hurt and he was miserable and he wanted to go to sleep. " _I_ don't even want to know about it. I don't want it to happen to begin with."

"But it still does," Sirius's voice came, almost overlapping him, harsh and loud and out of breath. He could just see Sirius's back through the gap in the curtains, where he was leaning on the dresser now, the front half of him obscured from view. "It's going to no matter what you do. And you don't have to treat me like I think you're some kind of -- _circus monster show_ just because I don't want you to have to do it _alone_."

"I'm not -- " Remus started -- but then Sirius whirled around, so at least half of his glaring, furious face was visible through the gap in the curtains, and he had to stop and look away in a rush. He closed his eyes after a moment, and scrubbed his hands over his face. "...I'm going to have to do it alone no matter what, too."

"No, you're _not_!" That startled him into looking up again, just as Sirius was raking back the curtain entirely, standing at the edge of the bed hanging from its poster with tension in every line of his shoulders. "Just because I can't be there for every minute of it doesn't mean you've got to shut me out of the whole thing. You just don't _trust_ me."

Remus started a little, looking wide-eyed up at Sirius -- struck a lot closer to home by that accusation, amid everything he'd been thinking and wondering about Sirius lately, than he would have liked to admit. "That's not... of course I do."

Sirius snorted, and flung himself back down on the far edge of the bed, hunching in over his knees. Remus watched him a moment, then sighed, and turned around on the bed to face his back fully. "Sirius. I _do_. That's not fair." There was still no answer. Remus hesitated, looking first at Sirius's back, and then down at the bedspread. "I don't want you to see me like that," he said, finally: almost mumbling it, barely moving his lips. Sirius let out a long, gusty breath, without turning.

"D'you think I want _you_ to see my little brother getting put in Slytherin, and going around calling you a Mudblood?"

Remus's jaw set, and he rubbed at his forehead. _It's not the same,_ hovered on his lips, but that was no good; the obvious question would be _why not?_ , and he had no really good answers, or at least none that he could think of right now and that he could actually say. None that wouldn't lead down into the dark, bruised basement of how badly it had _really_ hurt to hear, through his post-moon haze of agony and disorientated fog, all the locks on the door clicking back, and then the shocked, shaky wobble in the worst possible voice.

"If I'm not my family, then you're not -- waking up covered in blood once a month," Sirius went on, at last, sounding even a little more subdued. "And... I wasn't messed up about it 'cause of how you looked, or anything like that, all right? It was just... I didn't _know_. That it was that bad. ...I really didn't know." He paused a moment, and then sighed, pushing both his hands back through his hair and then lacing them behind his head, where Remus could see them. "I hate how much I don't know. We're meant to be _friends_."

There was another long silence. Both of them sitting, not looking at each other, with Remus facing Sirius's back and Sirius facing out at Remus's bed along the dormitory wall, Remus's legs tucked up under him and Sirius's dangling off the edge. Remus raised his eyes after a moment, letting them follow the sleek lines of Sirius's back and shoulders under his t-shirt, the slope of his neck and the unruly spill of his hair; and then something seemed to cramp up in his chest like a clenching fist, some careless stranger's hand closing too tight around something needed and frail. He looked away again, thinking very clearly: _I only_ wish _you were as bad as people keep making you out to be._

Yes. That would have been a lot easier, wouldn't it?

"You have to promise me," Remus said at last, slowly and down toward the bed, "that you won't even _leave the castle_ until the sun is up." He ignored, with fixed unseeing eyes, the rustle of Sirius turning around to look at him at last, the shifting of the bed underneath them. "And not just when it starts getting light out, or you can see a little crack of sun, or anything like that, either. Not until _sunrise_ , when it's _all the way up_. All right?"

"All right," Sirius said, too quickly -- sounding almost out of breath, even, like he was reeling from an actual blow. There was a moment's pause -- and then a breath from Sirius, almost like a weak laugh. Remus supposed that should have made him angry again, but instead it just twisted his stomach in one of those alarming and very inconvenient swoops. "...Yeah. Yeah, I promise."

And _I can't believe I'm doing this or that I don't hate you for making me,_ Remus thought this time; but considering that a few seconds later Sirius had craned across the bed and was hugging him, the thought proved impossible to hold onto with any conviction.

\---

Only compounding Sirius's frustrations had been the fact that they hadn't been spending as much time on the secret project as he would have liked, during Remus's absences. It had been a bit difficult to corral James and Peter back to work on it thus far this year, in part because he and James had gone so long being hacked off at each other over Regulus -- but in even larger part, because at the same time, James had become maddeningly distracted by a _ridiculous and deeply unhealthy obsession with Lily Evans_.

"I _know_ Evans got top marks on antidotes," Sirius finally snarled at him, the third time James had derailed what was supposed to be a session of turning their feet into paws and back again in a broken second-floor toilet, "because I'm not _deaf_. Not only have _you_ been on about it all night, Slughorn only wouldn't shut up about her for half an hour in Potions, which _I_ only have been known to go to _every bloody Monday_."

James turned on him with a scowl along the wall they were all three sitting against, in the process of which one of his paw-feet (which were actually turning out more like _hooves_ , Sirius had barely noticed in his annoyance) accidentally turned into a tentacle instead of going back to normal. He didn't seem to notice. "What's wrong with _you_? I was only making conversation."

"Try making it about _something else_ for once."

James huffed back, while Peter cast a few anxious glances between the two of them -- looking like he wanted to say something, but was thinking better of it. "Just because _you_ wouldn't notice a girl if one was taped to your face -- "

"What's do you mean by _that_?" Sirius asked -- honestly more taken aback than offended. James glowered moodily at his wand, turning it in his hand perhaps harder than necessary.

"Always following you around, staring at your stupid _hair_ , and they might as well be bloody _invisible_ for all you care..."

It took a moment for Sirius to even find his voice, from sheer indigance. "My _hair_ is not _stupid_. ...Which _might_ be because I don't shove it up every three seconds until I look like a daft hedgehog in glasses."

At which point James launched at him, growling, into the start of a scuffle -- which then just broke off into both of them frozen in startled place, when James's first kick ended in a heavy, wet _splat_.

Privately, though, Sirius was somewhat mean-spiritedly cheered by the thought that there'd be an end to it soon enough; and at first, breakfast on the morning of October 26th seemed to support his theory. Their first Hogsmeade weekend ever was the weekend before Halloween; he'd had to go visit _three sets_ of aunts, uncles, and cousins this summer to get his permission slip signed, which amounted to nothing short of _extortion_ in his view. James, though, had for his part been even more of a twitchy, incoherent lunatic than average for this year ever since the date had been announced -- and baffling though it was, the reason finally came clear when on Friday morning, he marched into the Great Hall and straight up to where Evans was sitting, planted his feet, and announced probably a lot louder than he'd meant to, "EVANS! D'YOU WANT TO COME TO HOGSMEADE WITH ME!"

There was a ripple of heads turning in his direction at first, and then another one of giggling and snickering. Evans, though, didn't join in; she turned slowly on the bench until she was looking up at James, with approximately the same expression she might have given a mountain troll with an accordion. After a moment, though, it soured and flattened, and she turned away again crisply enough that her hair swung. "Very funny, Potter. Really sophisticated."

James blinked, which at least took him a little out of his general off-to-the-Viking-wars attitude. "What? ...I'm not joking."

That at least got her looking at him again, although that wasn't necessarily a good thing. Now the troll had a tips jar he was rattling hopefully. "Well, then that's very sad for you," she said after a long, measured pause, "because if you'd gotten doused in dragon bile and caught on fire, I don't think I'd probably so much as spit on you to put it out."

There were more than a few cackles of appreciation for that one, not just down the Gryffindor table now but well over into the adjoining two. James was starting to look a bit flustered now, especially for James, but still managed to hang on enough to give that a mock-thoughtful shrug. "That _does_ seem like a bit much for a first date. I was more thinking we'd just take a walk or something."

Evans just stared at him -- didn't even crack a smile -- and then turned outward on the bench, toward him, her arms folded. She looked less thrown now, and not for the better; there was real anger starting in the set of her jaw. "I don't even _like_ you," she said, louder now. "... _You_ don't even like _me_." James raised his hands, with a slight put-upon scoff.

"Well -- yeah, _sure_ you're sort of annoying, but you're really pretty -- "

Evans never even changed expression. Just grabbed out to the side, shot to her feet, and dumped an entire pitcher of milk over James's head.

She was halfway out of the Great Hall already by the time James recovered enough to turn around -- spluttering, soaked white from head to mid-torso, milk-blind across his glasses -- and shout after her, "OI! WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH YOU? IT WAS A _COMPLIMENT_!"

"She's _mad_!" he exploded afterward, growling up and down the aisle between the sinks and stalls in the boys' toilet he'd slammed into, after the roars of laughter and Snivellus's smug smirking face had driven him storming out of the Hall. At least he'd gotten most of the milk off. "I mean, she's always been weird, but now she's finally gone completely, utterly mental!"

"How do you reckon, exactly?" Sirius asked, from the sink he was sitting on -- still quashing down his _own_ snickering by sheer force of loyalty. "I mean, what part of that was _not_ precisely how you'd expect Evans to behave in that situation?"

James appeared to ignore this. " _How_ was that even necessary? I mean, I think we can agree, seeing as we're all _sane people_ , that generally a simple 'yes' or a 'no' would be more than enough for anybody!" He paused a moment, running a hand the wrong way through his hair by sheer force of habit. "Or, for _me_ , a simple _yes_ , seeing as _I am brilliant_."

Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius caught Remus and Peter exchanging an uncertain glance, over where they were hovering by the door. He tried to rally his sympathy and take a more soothing tone, if only out of the feeling that James was fast becoming outnumbered. "She was bang out of order, no question. ...At _worst_ that would have been worth a plate of toast."

The look James gave him, though, didn't suggest his sincere attempt at commiserating had been received as well as he might have hoped. Remus cleared his throat from behind Sirius before he could respond, though, in what was not his greatest act of timing ever. "Er... I'm really sorry it didn't go well, James, but -- we really are going to be late."

James let out a loud, explosive sound like a wronged buffalo might make, lifting his arms and letting them slap loudly back to his sides as he wheeled around. "Oh, of _course_! I'm having a _crisis_ and all Remus cares about is bloody _school_. Great fat surprise there!"

There was a moment's slightly stunned silence. At the end of it, Sirius slid down off his sink and turned to face James, letting his efforts at seeming supportive roll away like water. "Oi," he said, a little quieter. "Don't have a go at Remus just because Evans has got the sense not to go with you."

For a second James looked surprised -- even stunned and a little hurt, like Sirius had shoved him instead -- and then his face stormed up, into a much uglier, more serious snarl. "Yeah, _and_ what a surprise, _you_ take _Remus's_ side," he snapped back, with such open venom that _Sirius_ was first taken by surprise, and then infuriated. "I guess I should just hope you remember about your _old_ best friend long enough to _invite me to the wedding_ \-- "

"What the _hell's_ got into you?" Sirius yelled back, cutting him off -- not even sure why that in particular should make him so furious on Remus's behalf, but not much caring, either. " _I'm_ not the one who hasn't been able to shut up for months about some girl he _hated_ this time last year!"

" _Well, and you wouldn't be, would you, because to pay attention to_ girls _you'd have to spend_ five minutes _doing something besides fawn over_ him _!_ "

"I don't think -- " Remus began, in a voice alarmed up to almost a full octave above his normal one, but James went on right over him.

" _Oh would you_ shut it _, Lupin, you're not everyone's_ mum _!_ "

" _Don't shout at him!_ " Sirius shouted back, and then they had launched at each other: James tackling into his middle and throwing skinny fists into his stomach, Sirius grabbing James's head into the crook of his arm and trying to kick his legs out from under him. They careened into one of the sinks in a wrestling, snarling pile, Sirius taking a painful blow in the kidneys from its lip as James crushed him against it, James falling down but biting his arm in the process --

There was a _crack_ of magical displacement -- and then water shot out of the faucet in a massive, blasting geyser, blowing into both of them and sending them sprawling apart drenched and sputtering. Sirius sat up in the puddle he'd landed in, slicking wet hair out of his eyes, gasping for breath... only to see Professor Flitwick, standing in the lavatory door with his wand raised, and on approximately Sirius's current eye level.

"Ah, much better!" Flitwick said brightly when silence had properly fallen, offering a large, benign smile around at all of them. "I couldn't help but notice things seemed a bit heated in here, boys, so I thought to take it on myself to cool you off." He set his wand away and straightened his robes, still smiling. "Furthermore, I thought you might prefer to settle this disagreement -- peaceably, of course -- at a later date. As I'm quite certain you don't want to arrive late to your classes, even if the time may have momentarily slipped your mind."

"Yes, thank you, Professor," Remus said, sounding a touch strained, when it became evident that neither Sirius nor James was going to be good for much besides gaping for the moment. Peter, making no eye contact at all, scuffed at the floor tiles with one trainer and mumbled along with something in which a "yes" and a "Professor" could barely be identified. Flitwick beamed, nodded his farewell, and was gone as quickly as he'd appeared; leaving all of them staring at everything but each other, in a rather amazed silence.

"He's a bit terrifying actually, isn't he," James said at last, at least sounding mostly calm again. Peter made a thin, wordless noise of agreement.

"Well?" Remus said, after another moment's pause. "Are you two ready to go to class, or would you rather keep fighting about completely stupid things until Professor _McGonagall_ comes in?"

James made a sound equal parts scoffing and alarmed, dragging himself to his feet with a few splashes and taking off his glasses to try to wipe them. "She couldn't do that, it's a boys' toilet. ...Bloody hell, why do I keep getting soaked today?"

"She might not care if she were cross enough," Sirius pointed out, starting to make his gingerish way up too with a grip on the sink. James paused, and then shuddered, extravagantly.

"Well, now that you've made me think about _McGonagall in the same room with knobs_ , I think we'd _better_ go to class, so I can have something to _clean out my brain_ with."

"I think the evidence right now favours your brain being fairly cleaned out already," Remus said, with a tart dryness that made Sirius grin over at him, as he was attempting to dry his hair with his wand. James scowled, although not with anything like his conviction of a moment ago.

"And _I_ think I've heard enough out of _you_ today -- " He struggled briefly, apparently at a loss -- "... _Moony_."

There was another stunned, considering pause. All of them had turned to stare at him by its end: Sirius incredulous, Peter disbelieving, Remus far too utterly nonplussed to be even slightly offended. The silence thundered on for full moments, with all of them just hovering there... and then broke, on Sirius's full-voiced hoot of laughter.

" _Moony?_ " he repeated, cackling, falling back against the wet sink all over again as he lost his balance on the wet tiles. "Did you actually just call him _moony_? Was that supposed to be some sort of an _insult_?"

"Shut _up_ , you complete _wanker_ ," James said, half-snarling -- but the other half was his mouth jerking at the corners and trying to twitch into a grin. They stared at each other a moment longer, Sirius's chest hitching, James trying to fight his mouth down... and then finally they both just gave up, and burst out howling into laughter.

\---

Somehow, that actually seemed to mark a truce between the two of them; even by the time they all four raced breathless into History of Magic, Sirius and James already seemed to be entirely on good terms again. Afterward in the corridors, furthermore, Sirius hexed a Ravenclaw boy Remus didn't know for making a rude, laughing comment about James's luck with women -- which seemed in turn to restore James's good spirits, and even by that afternoon he was laughing along himself with people's jokes about it. It was really Lily that Remus felt worst for, at that point; she spent most of the rest of the day looking deeply stormy, scowling into one book or another and trying her best to ignore everyone. Which he supposed he could understand.

Still, Remus found himself relieved by the whole outcome in more ways than one. Fond as he was of James, it was... a bit better right about now, in his view, for James's attention to be directed elsewhere.

\---

This time the creak of the door woke him, if only gradually; one part of him at a time came back, shedding the darkness of unconsciousness like water, like he was surfacing from a deep pool. The first, of course, was pain: the sick, rotten howling of all his bones and innards at being so recently tortured in and out of shape, and the slightly lesser, more superficial throbbing of his various wounds from the night. Pain was everywhere, pulsed all through him with every thud of his heartbeat. Then second was the cold, bone-deep and awful. The frost on his breath, the stiff numbness in his fingers and toes. And then vision, comprehension, and everything else trudged in behind those first two, a muddy and sluggish rear guard. He became aware of the floor, hard and splintered under him, the thin grey light of near-winter dawn. The dust-motes, stirred up by his own wolf self's madness, spinning in the air and being breathed down his throat. The quiet.

"Remus, it's me."

Sirius's voice: a soft, hesitating whisper, quite unlike him. No surprise this time, of course, but Remus's stomach still seemed to sink inward, all the same. He closed his eyes again, and tried to drag himself into a tighter ball on the floor, to protect himself. Couldn't seem to move enough to get there.

"'s Ma'm Pomfrey coming?" he managed to mush, into his sticky aching arm, without otherwise moving. There was a pause in the footsteps that had been creaking across the floor, and some soft rustling sound above and near him. He didn't look.

"Yeah, soon." Sirius was still practically whispering, like he was at a sickbed. Like this was anything ordinary. "I saw someone coming out of the castle, when I was up on the hill by the Willow. Must've been her."

"Nn." He dug his face against his arm for a moment, tried to think. "...didn't see you?"

"Nah. I've got James's cloak." There was another pause -- and then fabric settled over Remus, covering him, cool at first but quickly warming. It startled him into opening his eyes, finally, and he could see the blur of the bedsheets and blankets, tangled up in folds around his shoulders and down the rest of him. Protecting. Hiding him. "There you go. 'S freezing in here. They can't do something about that?"

Remus couldn't seem to speak for a moment. His eyes stung with sudden, stupid heat, and he shut them again, quickly.

"...Tried," he mumbled, barely even able to hear himself. "Madam Pomfrey. Cast a... heating charm, once." Only their constant interruption made him notice his teeth chattering. "...No good. I... the wolf smelled the magic, went mad. Much worse'n normal." He sniffed a little, found he could at least raise his hand enough to scrub the sheet at his leaking nose. "And she can't leave a fire. 'd probably stick my head straight in it."

There was a little sound of breath from Sirius -- possibly a stifled snort, although Remus couldn't really begrudge that if so. "Well -- it's crap. You could catch pneumonia or something." He paused another moment, and then there was a soft, settling thud right next to Remus, the shifting fabric and groaning boards of Sirius sitting down on the floor. He opened his eyes, and could see only a blurry half of his own arm and a lot of Sirius's knee. "You want my cloak, too?"

Remus shook his head, his hair rucking up against his arm. It felt stiff and knotty against his tender skin: there was probably dried blood in it. "Madam Pomfrey'll know you were here..."

"We'll hear her downstairs, I can get it back before she comes in." There was more rustling and shuffling, and even more warm weight settled over him. One that smelled of Sirius, he couldn't help noticing, and squeezed his eyes shut again with an involuntary huff of breath. Another brief pause, and then, much more hesitant: "Here..."

And then Sirius's arms, warm and strong, wrapping around the outside of the blankets around his shoulders, between the one he was lying on and the floor. _Lifting_ him, as gently as possible, off the floor and up onto the soft, warm fabric that covered Sirius's _leg_ , as it pressed close enough for him to reach. Sirius's breath, warm on the back of his neck; the ends of his hair tickling against Remus's ear, as he settled Remus's upper body across his lap, to use it as a pillow. His body warming Remus's against the cold.

He couldn't speak. Couldn't move. Could only lie there, stiff and limp at once, with Sirius's hand on his hair and thigh under his cheek, arms splayed awkwardly across Sirius's knees. He was facing away from Sirius, at least, which hid how wide his eyes had gone in spite of their haze, staring out across the room where he'd spent so many hateful nights at a still-blurry nothing in particular. ...None of this even seemed _real_ ; he couldn't believe he wasn't just dreaming, in those few minutes of drowsing he always caught between when his screaming, writhing transformation finally left him only twitching and sobbing dryly on the floor, and when Madam Pomfrey came bustling in, potion-bottles already clinking in her hands.

They sat like that in silence for a moment: Sirius straightened back up but still lightly touching his hair, Remus lying across his lap in a heap of blankets. And somehow, somehow, finding himself _relaxing_ , as more and more minutes went by. Almost drowsing again, cocooned, surrounded by Sirius. His scent, his skin, his warmth, all around.

He had never even begun to imagine it could be like this.

At some length, Sirius spoke again, his voice reeling Remus again back up from near-sleep. "...Why do you hurt yourself so much, when you're a wolf? Do you know?"

...This was far too much thinking and talking to try to do in this situation, although it also seemed like too much effort to say so. "I think... 'cause it hurts. Changing. I mean." He swallowed, trying to clear away some of the rasp from his throat. "And... it's stuck in here, cooped up. Can't bite anybody. It gets really angry, but there's nobody else. So... it hurts itself."

Sirius made a small noise, difficult to identify. His fingers brushed along the curve of Remus's skull, avoiding places where blood had stuck his hair together. They still felt warm, almost hot; Sirius was warm-blooded, had always had an easy time of it in the cold.

"You know, I was right," he said, after another pause. "About what I said first year." Remus frowned a little, although without turning his head or even moving at all; he had no way of knowing if Sirius could even see it. After a moment, though, either way, Sirius said in a murmur almost too soft to hear: "I think you're the bravest person I've ever met."

Remus turned his head downward, into Sirius's trouser-leg. His arm that was splayed out across Sirius's knee curled slowly inward, wrapping around it in a weak cling, with almost no conscious intent at all. "No, _I_ was right," he mumbled, his mouth pressed so tight against Sirius's leg that it must have sounded all but nonsense. "I just don't have a choice."

"Nah." Sirius's fingers, sifting through his hair, gentle; the rough, half-embarrassed kindness in his voice that probably no one else but Remus would ever believe. "You've got loads of choices, about everything. ...Just not that one."

Remus couldn't seem to think of any way to answer that.

Finally, he just squeezed his arm in a little tighter: hugging Sirius's knee to him, pressing his face into it the way he never would have dared to at any other time. But here, now, with everything else... what did it even matter? "I'm really glad you came again," he whispered; half-hoping the fabric would swallow it, Sirius's body would swallow it, and it couldn't be heard at all. And Sirius didn't respond for a long moment, long enough for him to not be sure... and then the hand brushing his hair left off, and Sirius's whole upper body pressed down in its place, over and around his head and shoulders. Warm and heavy and covering.

"Me too," Sirius murmured, into his hair. And didn't move away again until they both finally heard Madam Pomfrey's footsteps, coming light and quick along the old dusty boards downstairs.

\---

It was a unique torture, Sirius had reflected sourly even in previous years, to watch everyone else around you count down to the Christmas holidays with increasing glee and anticipation, while _you_ felt like you were about to be shipped off to a war zone. ...In point of fact, actually, he guessed that at least this year, he sort of _was_. He might have tried to just stay at school, but amid all his distractions around the full moon in early December, the realization didn't hit him until too late; his name wasn't down on the list, and his mother had made it plain she was expecting him and Reg both at Aunt Druella and Uncle Cygnus's on Christmas Eve. Yet another thing to look forward to, he thought, moodily, kicking one dangling foot off the seat he was sprawling across in their train compartment, while his friends went on in excited conversation all around him. He might as well have just thrown himself under the Hogwarts Express as got on it.

They had supper that night in the dining room, forced into dress robes, amid floating candelabra and the best silver, and Kreacher's most unobtrusive grunts of effort as he hauled one course after another in on the rickety serving cart. Sirius made every possible effort to trip him, but he was really on his game tonight, and looked more smug than annoyed every time he evaded Sirius's foot. Well he might, Sirius supposed, glowering at the roast he was pushing around his plate; it couldn't really have been more obvious who the air of celebration was directed at, or what it was meant to imply.

"The Burkes' youngest, really?" his mother was saying -- to Regulus, of course. Nearly every word she'd said since they'd arrived back had been to Regulus, and he sat now in a haze of stunned pleasure that soured Sirius's stomach. "The time goes by so quickly. I had forgotten he was your age, Regulus. You will invite him and his parents to call on us while you're home, won't you? It would be a pleasure to see Deino again, after all these years."

"Yes, mother." _Yes, mother._ Sirius moved his mouth along in savage mimickery, head leaned on one fist where he lolled with his elbow propped on the table, his other hand turning his fork in desultory spirals. Either neither of them noticed, though, or they were choosing to ignore him; he supposed it came out to the same. "He's asked me round to their villa in Tuscany over the summer, as well."

"Well. How lovely." Reg swelled even a little further at her thin smile, making Sirius drop his eyes back to the table. "Travel abroad would do you a world of good. It's unfortunate that your father's illness has prevented us from visiting the château for so long." She said this with a faint air of injured weariness, as though their dad had deliberately gone mad for the specific purpose of inconveniencing her, and possibly the added bonus of making her look inferior to her peers. "Have you seen much of your cousin Ptolemy as well, by any chance?"

Reg looked distinctly less pleased at that, hesitating with his knuckles whitening on his napkin. Even from the glance he caught up through his screening hair, Sirius thought he could guess why: Ptolemy Crabbe was a great hulking slab of idiot, but with enough sheer meanness to make up what he lacked in brains, and it was easy enough to picture his big hairy knuckles being some of the ones that had put all those bruises on Reg's face. "Er -- not really," Reg said, though, with a slightly pasted smile. "He's a few years ahead of me, so we've mostly missed each other. Just passed in the common room sometimes."

"Ah. ...Well, little matter." Her mouth took on a small, cold twist. "To be quite honest, I've always felt the Crabbes were a somewhat... disappointing tributary. Although the past generation has made some very good marriages; perhaps the next will be improved by them." She paused for a moment, sipping from her wine goblet. "Since you mention the common room -- has your father's and my gift been displayed to good advantage?"

Reg brightened up a little -- more in his element. "Oh -- great-great-uncle Ophiuchus's skull, you mean? Yes, actually, they've got it in a nice crystal case -- "

Sirius's snort came out louder than he'd meant it to, and when Reg cut off in mid-sentence he knew he'd done it. Looking up again, reluctantly, he found Reg's sappy earnest was now marred with a scowl, which was all right; but his mother's cool, supercilious attention had turned on him instead, which wasn't. She set her goblet down slowly, taking her time about rounding on him. Perhaps relishing it, now that the time had come. She had turned sixty this year, although you would never know it to look at her; her face was haughtily ageless as ever, only lightly lined around her pale, upturned eyes and thin pursed mouth. Most of her hair was still black, and when she had it twisted elegantly up behind her head like she did tonight, the spreading grey in it looked more like a silver coronet, crowning her the royalty she was so sure she was.

"I beg your pardon, Sirius?" she said, with a deadly softness that made it hard not to look down and mumble just by instinct. "Was there something you wanted to say?"

He met her eyes for just long enough to prove he could before glancing at Regulus instead, one corner of his mouth curling up. "So you've got dead relatives' skulls for decoration?" he said -- directly to Reg, ignoring her as completely -- as deliberately -- as he could. "Well, that's good and tasteful. Really understated."

Reg started to say something back, and hotly, but she interrupted as smoothly as if Sirius had been talking to her all along. "I don't think there's any need to be rude to Regulus, simply because _he_ has proven to have a talent for friendship."

That stung Sirius enough he had to bite back two different attempts to speak before getting enough control to say anything coherent, just glaring mute daggers at her in between. "... _I've_ got friends."

"Oh, indeed. So I have certainly heard." He snapped his glare briefly over at Regulus, who was staring pointedly elsewhere, and then back -- just in time to see a predatory, unpleasant smile spreading out over her lips. "And how proud you must feel, to have been accepted into such distinguished company."

"Actually, I do," Sirius said, after a moment's pause; when he could struggle back the hot, poisonous blood beating in his temples and behind his eyes, at least long enough to think. He was upright now, his fork dropped altogether, his hands in knots on the knees of his robes. "Better than hanging round with _Ptolemy_." He turned on Reg again, with a new savage malice that he thinly dressed casual. "Was he _really_ one of the ones who beat you up? I'm amazed he's even clever enough to work out we're brothers -- "

"Leave me _out_ of it, Sirius," Reg hissed, staring whitened down at his hands.

" -- I expect someone had to explain it to him three or four times, maybe with a diagram -- "

"So you admit to taking pride in bringing shame on this family?" his mother cut across them both, clear and sharp as glass. Bypassing Regulus entirely for the moment, but surely setting that information aside for further consideration; the satisfaction that brought Sirius, however, was only thin. "To think of all the years I spent excusing your failures as mere incompetence."

Sirius's teeth clicked together, his jaw locking; he tried not to show it in his face, but his moment's silence must have been telling. "Don't do me any favours," he muttered down to his own lap -- some of the daring cut out of him for now, if not all. "I didn't ask to be _in_ this family."

"You're a petulant child, squandering your future for the sake of rebellion," she said -- louder now, over him, cold and heavy with renewed authority; "and when this unattractive phase of yours finally comes to an end, you will find yourself repenting of it at leisure." He looked back up at her, smouldering, ready to retort -- and then her expression, its _disgust_ , stopped him before he could. "As vastly clever as you may believe yourself, Sirius, there are a great many things about the world you plainly do not yet understand. There will come a time, as there always comes, when the children of blood traitors and half-breeds with whom you've fallen in will finally recognize you for who you are and where you truly belong. And on that day, you will lose even the dubious pleasure of their company, to their envy and resentment of their natural superiors." Her eyes held his, even as her mouth curved into a grim, pitiless smile. "You are hardly the first in the house of Black to make poor choices of companionship -- as my father's tapestry will regrettably attest. And yet the conclusion is quite inescapable." The smile deepened slightly, tightened. "Even the basest of animals can discern those who are not of its own breed."

For a moment, all Sirius could do was stare at her. He couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't speak. His tongue frozen in his mouth, his jaws cemented. Something like a vast black hole roared at the center of him, sucking everything in, drowning everything out. He felt brittle and hollow, nothing left inside at all.

And then suddenly there _was_ something: pure venom. And when all that brittleness broke open, it was what came spilling out.

"Oh, talking of _breeding_ ," he said with sudden, blazing false brightness, furiously casual. Still meeting her eyes, it was enough to actually make her recoil slightly. "Did you hear about Dromeda's new baby? She sent me a birth announcement at school. She's got a new baby daughter, with that husband of hers -- oh, what's his name?" He fixed his gaze on hers harder than ever, his mouth cracking in a deep tooth-baring twist that wasn't exactly a grin. "Oh, that's right. _Ted._ Good old _Ted_ the Muggle-born." He affected a thoughtful pose. "What does that make the baby, anyway? Half-blood? Or is it more like three-quarters at that point? It's funny, I've never really worked out how the maths of it is meant to -- "

"Leave this table."

She didn't shout that time. She didn't have to. Her voice just cut straight through, through the skin of his swinging-wild chatter down into the meat of the silence underneath.

Sirius was still a moment, then started to speak again, and then stopped again. Pushed away from the table, his chair screeching on the floorboards. "Couldn't be happier to," he said, quiet again. There seemed to be no need for anything more.

He was lying on his back in bed in his room, staring at the ceiling, trying to think about his friends and Hogwarts and just ending up hearing her voice over and over again, when Regulus came by the doorway on his way to bed; it wasn't much later, they couldn't have gone on that long without him. Sirius could hear the floor creaking out in the hallway with his footsteps, and then there was Reg -- first making like he was going to just walk by pretending to be blind, and then gradually faltering to a stop, then turning to look in.

"You know -- all you have to do is do what she wants," he said, after a long, long hesitating pause. Sirius kept his eyes fixed upward, his jaw starting to tighten again. Reg sounded helpless, helpful, unhappy, exasperated. "If that's all _I_ ever had to do, it's all you do."

"Bugger off," Sirius said, and closed his eyes. "Looking at you makes me want to be sick."

There was a long pause, and then a small, disgusted noise. "It's not like your stupid friends are even good enough to be worth it." A note of _real_ anger in Reg's voice now. "Lupin's practically a Mudblood, Pettigrew's a -- jelly with arms, _Potter's_ a blood traitor _wanker_ who makes a prat out of himself in front of everybody every third week -- It's not like you're _special_. It's not like you _beat_ her."

"How would you know?" Still with his eyes closed, his voice toneless and quiet. He wasn't even angry in return; he didn't seem to be able to feel anything at all. "How would you know what's worth it or not?"

"She's right, you know. Even if she doesn't know _why_ she's right. You're just kidding yourself." Reg's voice was rising in pitch now, rising in volume, climbing toward what might eventually be a shout. "Eventually, they're going to figure out what -- "

In a sudden burst Sirius launched up off the bed, grabbed his Charms book out of his bookbag, and threw it with all his strength at the door. It hit the edge square and solid, knocking it shut in Reg's face with a heavy _bang_.

\---

In the end, Sirius wound up being sent back to school by Floo almost a week early. It was something of a triumph on his part, actually; at first his mother -- tooth-grindingly canny as always -- said she wasn't about to reward him for poor behaviour, and threatened to just shut him up in his room for the rest of the holiday. He only managed to corner her when he swore that if he was still in the house when the Burkes came round for tea, he'd find a way to get his dad down into the parlor, to scream about how his brains were crawling and maybe piss himself on the antique rug -- even if it meant using magic and maybe getting himself expelled in the bargain. Just as she'd known better than to send him back to Hogwarts straight away, she also knew better than to call his bluff. It did feel a bit unsavoury to him, bringing his dad into it as a weapon -- he was just a harmless nutter these days, no matter what he might have been once -- but it was always the best place to hit her. ...They _both_ knew each other too well.

So he came back into the quiet tower the day after Christmas in relatively good spirits: humming with his bag over his shoulder, smiling bemusedly back at the giggling waves of the couple of second-year girls who were the only other people in the common room. Climbed the stairs to the dormitory, feeling only a bit dampened by the thought of being there alone until classes started again --

And then stopped in the doorway, mouth open, when the first thing he saw across the room was _Remus_ : sitting up on his bed with his socked feet stretched out, reading a book.

Remus glanced up at the noise, frowning, and then did a startled double-take. "Oh!" he said, a bit too loud, then flushed and set his book aside, fumbling it so he lost his page. "Er. H-hello. You're -- back early."

"So're you," Sirius said, completely nonplussed. It took him a moment to remember what he'd been doing, but finally he came out of his mid-step halt and came the rest of the way in. "When did you get back?"

"Just this morning." Remus turned on the bed to follow him, as he went to his own and dumped off his things. "...Did you have a row with your mum?"

Sirius straightened up again from his trunk, scraping hair out of his face one-armed before answering. "I think we'd have to ever _stop_ rowing in order to have, you know, a specific row." Remus smiled and dropped his eyes at that, looking slightly embarrassed. Sirius shrugged, rounding his bed again to come over and plop on the end of Remus's. "I swear I'm never going back there again when I can help it. Next year I'm just staying here. Let her do her worst, I can manage Howlers."

"Was it to do with your brother?" Remus guessed softly, after a few seconds' hesitation. Sirius glanced up from twisting his fingers on his knees to find Remus peering at him, and looked down again quickly.

"Um -- " He trailed off, and then made a weak chuffing noise, not quite a laugh. "I don't really want to talk about it. ...It's nothing really."

"All right," Remus said after a moment, and there was a cautious, measuring tone in it that made him feel a bit guilty. "...Sorry."

"So how come you're not home?" Sirius asked, almost at once -- eager to change the subject. Which he supposed Remus could tell, but what did that matter? He understood, he always had. "The moon's not 'til next week, is it?"

Remus shook his head, smiling in a quick, grimacey way that made Sirius realise what he'd just said and wince a bit. All very well for him that he _could_ forget when the full moon was. "No, it's not that. Just... um." He sighed a bit, and looked away, one hand restlessly flexing and relaxing on his closed book. "...My eldest brother, Pompy -- he's my favorite, really -- and his wife decided they were going to come stay for a while after the holiday. And -- they've got a new baby, he was just born this past spring, and... um..." He swallowed, shifting uncomfortably, looking far off to the side. "Mum, ah, thought it would be a good idea if, if, you know, I... didn't cross over with them."

Sirius stared at him, uncomprehending. "...What? Why?" Remus didn't answer, though, as long as Sirius went on looking at the tense side of his face. It dawned slowly, from his stomach up, like sick. "...Because of the _baby_? She didn't want you around the baby?"

Remus nodded, reluctantly, closing his eyes for a second and then blinking them open again. Sirius could only gape for a moment before finding his voice again. "But -- _why_? That's crazy! You weren't even going to be _transformed_ at all, you were just -- "

"It makes sense, really," Remus started over top of him -- or really under him, in a low indistinct mumble. "A lot of people think -- werewolves, you know, they can get a person's scent even when they're in human form, and then -- "

"But that's not _true_ , and it still doesn't even -- " Sirius fell off there, struggling, unable to articulate even in his head the depth of his outrage. "She's your _mum_! How could she -- "

"Sirius, _don't_ ," Remus burst out: this time _actually_ over top of him, much louder. Sirius's eyes snapped back to him and found his eyes closed again, one hand rubbing the pinched creases in his forehead. "Don't make a big fuss over it, _please_. I understand and I'm not angry, all right? And it's not like she -- chucked me out throwing things at me, or anything. She just... suggested it."

And Sirius sat, biting his tongue and staring at the bedspread, and unable to express even if Remus would have let him how much _worse_ that sometimes was; how well he knew how much worse it sometimes was, when they didn't even do you the courtesy of being monstrous evil step-parents from a children's story, so you could hate them as much as you wanted and feel all right about it. When they turned to you with only that slight smile of exasperated patience at all your protest, with that look that said _I know better, and one day you'll understand why I had to hurt you so much._

"I just don't want to talk about it either," Remus said by way of conclusion, a bit weakly, dropping his hand and looking down again. And the way his voice went smaller as he said it finally made Sirius able to swallow all of that stuff out of his mouth, and force a wan smile onto it, instead.

"Well.. fair enough," he said -- making Remus glance up at him again. "James isn't hogging the window-seat for once; d'you want to play some chess?"

Remus answered his smile only slightly, slowly; but it was a start, wasn't it? "That sounds really good," he said.

Snow ticked gently against the window outside as they set up the pieces, as they played; and as Remus beat him soundly, twice, which he only didn't mind when it was Remus. The grounds were coated in white beyond the glass, but faded from view quickly, with the early settling blanket of dusk. They had dinner with the teachers and the handful of other lingering students, and Professor McGonagall -- like most of the others -- was doting on Remus so much that she actually forgot herself and let Sirius surprise a laugh out of her with an especially good impression of James in class. They sat up on Sirius's bed until well into the night after, looking at comics a little but mostly talking a lot and intensely about absolutely nothing at all. Until they both fell asleep there, curled together, with Sirius's hand draped over Remus's belly and face in his ticklish hair, and his head full of drowsy wondering just how selfish it was to be so happy.

\---

"Sorry, mate," James said, making every effort to be contrite even through his stifled snickers. "Really, I am. It was an accident."

Remus gave him a long, injured, long-suffering look, then put his textbook pointedly back up in front of his face. Sirius, who was trying valiantly to keep his own lips straight, leaned in closer along the wall, elbows on his knees. "Look," he said, he hoped reasonably, "is it _our_ fault Snivelly goes around firing off Shield Charms every which way these days?"

That made Remus drop the book rather loudly back to his lap, and fix Sirius with a wide-eyed accusing look before nodding, emphatically. Sirius paused to consider. "...Okay, that may be a fair point. But I think the thing to _focus_ on is, now we know the powder works! So -- well done us, eh?"

Remus appeared to let out a heavy sigh, although without making any noise -- which unfortunately was funny enough all told that it stretched Sirius's self-control almost past its limits -- and picked the book back up. That appeared to have piqued Peter's interest, though, and he cocked his head a little, trying to get a better view of Remus from over on his bed.

"Can you not make any noise at all, then? Not even when you breathe?" A new thought appeared to alarm him. "... _Are_ you breathing?"

That set both James and Sirius off in spite of themselves -- making Peter first frown at them in his turn, and then flush a bit when he understood. Remus hesitated a moment, and then seemed to decide it was best just to ignore the whole thing, turning his attention firmly back to the page he'd seemed stuck on for ages. Newly recovered, James patted him bracingly on the ankle, from the other side of him.

"Anyway, it's not such a big deal, it's not like we -- made boils come out your nostrils or your hair turn to glue or anything. ...And you've got to admit, it's not like you're exactly _loud_ under ordinary circumstances. So you're not exactly missing much." The book rose a few very deliberate inches. "Aw, come off it, Moony, we said we're sorry, how long're you going to be cross for? We're your mates! It was an honest mistake, could happen to anybody!"

The textbook lowered very slightly, just so that Remus's skeptical, narrowed eyes could be seen, fixing James with a long withering glare. Really, Sirius thought Remus was actually doing very well for himself, under the circumstances. And, well, it wasn't as though using that new nickname of his was ever going to win James any points.

"All right, how about this," Sirius said, by way of intervening, and when they all looked at him a grin fought its way out onto his mouth in spite of all efforts. "Remus, if you forgive us, and you know it was an accident, and you think we're still brilliant and wonderful... _don't say a word_."

James and Peter went off into gales of laughter, convulsing on the floor and bed. Remus turned his infuriated, betrayed look on Sirius this time... and made a gesture Sirius wouldn't have even thought Remus _knew_ in his direction.

Which just set _Sirius_ off, too. And then Remus pushed up the dormitory wall and got up, striding out between their helpless prone bodies to slam out of the room.

When he finally started to get control of himself, wiping his eyes, Sirius let out a long whooping breath and then said, "He is never going to speak to us again, is he?"

"Nah, it'll wear off," James said unsteadily, waving a hand. And then wrenched his head around on the floor to look over at Sirius. "Or did you mean -- "

And off they all went again.

"All right, _seriously_ though, you lot," James gasped, at some length, holding his stomach for a moment before struggling up on his elbows and sorting out his askew glasses. He glanced at the closed door, seemed to satisfy himself, and then lowered his voice as he looked around at them both. "I know we haven't got much chance since we got back, but -- are we on for working on the project Thursday next, when he's in hospital? I got a chance to ask my dad some about human transfiguration over the hols, and he gave me some dead useful stuff. I wanna try it out."

That, if nothing else, sobered Sirius at once, and he sat up catching his breath. "Yeah, 'course we are. I've been practicing some when I get a chance, but there's not a lot I can do on my own without getting caught." He raised his head, looking up at Peter. "How about you, Pete?"

"Yeah, sure!" Peter said, brightening -- possibly as much at just being asked as at the prospect of working on their transformations. "I haven't really been able to practice though... I still can't really get the paws thing, and I've got all these remedials this year..."

"We'll make time," James said, waving that off. "Do your homework for you or something if it's trouble, yeah?" Peter nodded especially vigorously at that, Sirius couldn't help noticing with a small smirk. "It'll be brilliant. I really think we're getting somewhere now."

"I hope so," Sirius said. His eyes drifting, with what seemed like a will of their own, over toward the door that Remus had shut behind him.

\---

At first he thought it was a portrait, or one of the ghosts, being dramatic. There was no one else in the corridor, after all; this time of morning on a Sunday, most everyone was still at breakfast, or still in bed, depending. But when James stopped, frowning, and took a couple of backward steps with his hands still stuffed in his pockets, he found he heard it clearer right in one particular spot: the sound of somebody crying somewhere nearby, in high, soft, whimpery gasps. And the portraits on either side all looked happy enough, and there weren't any ghosts anywhere about, at least not that he could see. ...Not that that necessarily meant much, but still.

He took another step back, eyes front, still frowning -- no, no good, he'd overshot. A little further forward... yeah, there it was again. Right nearby, and... slightly to the left, actually. And, after he'd been looking that direction for a long moment, it dawned on him that the floor-to-ceiling tapestry that was hanging right there had a sort of short tunnel cut into the wall behind it. He'd hid from Filch in there just last year, actually -- more or less entirely by accident, but never mind.

Curious now, he inched over and pulled back the edge of it: planning to just take a peek and then leave whoever it was to whatever they were blubbing about. And then the small crack of light he'd let in fell across the alcove, letting him see, and before he could even try to stop himself his mouth had just blurted it out: " _Evans_?"

He actually wasn't entirely sure. She was sitting tucked up with her knees against her chest against one wall of the alcove, her face hidden against her bluejeans; the only recognizable bit was all that red hair, spilling out over her shoulders, and -- well, the idea was just hard to credit. But she jumped at the sound of his voice, hissing in a breath, and dropped her hands away from her face, and it _was_ her. He had only a second's glimpse of her wide red swollen eyes and the light catching on wet trails down her cheeks, though, before she groaned, and put her hands right back in the way. "Oh, God, not _you_ ," her voice came muffled through them, choked and wavery. "Just -- be decent for once and go _away_ , would you?"

"...Are you _crying_?" He was aware he was goggling a bit, and that he might be putting life and limb at risk by not doing as she said, for that matter, but couldn't really help it. "Are you _actually_ crying?"

She lifted her head out of her hands again, this time scowling even as she sniffed, loudly. " _Yes,_ all right?" she snapped, viciously enough to make him take a half-step back on instinct. "What about it?"

"Well -- nothing really." James considered, hanging from the corner of the wall. "It's just... you know, I didn't really know you _did_ that. I thought for a moment maybe you'd just sprung a leak or something, I was a bit alarmed." Evans was only glowering down at her knees now, though, apparently with no response for that. He took the opportunity to slip behind the tapestry, ducking down almost double under the low overhang of the wall and having to hold his head funny to keep his glasses on. "What's wrong?"

She sniffed again, and scrubbed at her face with the back of her hand while she turned it away from him. "As if _you_ cared."

"Oh, come on, you don't know that. I care about loads of weird stuff. Sometimes it's really unpredictable." That at least got her to look over at him, a bit incredulously, and he gave her his sincerest wide-eyed look. "One time I cared about Burundi all the time for a whole week. It was actually sort of unsettling, now I think about it."

Evans stared at him a moment longer, and by the end something that could have been either a smile or a disbelieving grimace had started to pull at her mouth. "...Are you trying to _cheer me up_?"

James hesitated. "Depends. Is it working?"

" _No._ " It came out a little too scoffingly, though. Meeting her eyes, he couldn't keep back a bit of a growing grin.

"Then I'm not." She looked down -- maybe to hide a struggle not to smile of her own, though it seemed like too much to hope for -- and he pressed the advantage. "Can I sit down? ...You don't have any milk on you I haven't noticed, do you?"

That actually won a snort. "If only." She sighed, and then waved her hand at him, looking down again. "Do whatever you want, I don't care. Apparently I'm never going to get rid of you anyway."

"That's the spirit." He slid down the wall, ending up sitting with his back up against it and his t-shirt rucked up slightly behind him. "So what _are_ you crying about? Or leaking about? I'm still not convinced of which." She glared at him at that for a moment, then looked away again, staring pointedly at the stones around them.

"Why? So you can tell me how what'd cheer me up straight away is going on a date with you?"

James blinked, then tried another tentative grin. "Well -- actually I hadn't thought of that, but you know, if you think it _would_ help..." She'd no sooner gone for her wand, though, than he had both of his hands in the air, yelping, "Joking! Joking. I'm joking. I just want to _know_ , that's all, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. We can just -- sit here and you can hex me until you feel better, or something."

She let out a long sigh, and did actually go silent for several moments, leaning her head back against the wall. And toying with her wand between her hands instead of putting it away, which wasn't exactly a comfort to him.

"My sister sent me back her birthday present," she said, at last -- right when he'd been about to give up on her saying anything at all. "All right?"

"...Apparently not, since you're upset about it." She didn't meet his eyes or say anything else, just biting her lip, and eventually he pressed on. "...She didn't like it?"

"No, it's not -- " She broke off there, though, and sighed again, closing her eyes. Her lips were trembling slightly, James noticed to his definite and now slightly overwhelming alarm, before she could press them together. Joke all he wanted, the thought of actually sitting around watching _Evans cry_ made him feel rather like running off screaming. After a moment, though, she seemed to muster herself, swallowing hard and taking a breath. "...You know I'm -- Muggle-born, right?"

"Yeah." He said it so readily she cracked her eyes open and gave him a funny, troubled sort of look, which he wasn't sure how to interpret. He shrugged instead of trying. "So?"

She was quiet a moment longer, looking down, then shifted and sat forward again with a sigh. "Well -- my sister's a Muggle, too. And she..." She broke off, seemed to consider, and started over. "My parents have always been really wonderful about it -- me being a witch. They're always telling me they're proud, and they want to hear all about it, and it must be so strange for them, having to get used to all of this suddenly, but they've always... well. ...But with my sister, it's different." She bit her lip again, letting her head fall forward so her hair surrounded her face. "When I started at Hogwarts, she -- was sort of upset about it. She said it was weird, and called me a freak, and... I think she was sort of jealous, and sort of scared, and some other things happened... I don't know, I really don't. I've tried to make it up with her since, but -- she doesn't even talk to me, whenever I'm home. She just avoids me. And she doesn't answer my letters, and mum and dad get awkward if I ask about her, and now..." She rubbed at her face again, sniffing quickly. "It was just one more thing, that's all."

"Well, she sounds like a right twit," James said, after a moment's pause -- and immediately regretted it. Her head _snapped_ up, her face incredulous and furious and seething.

"Don't you dare talk about my sister like that!"

" _What?_ I just -- " But he caught himself up short there, hesitated a moment, and then let out a gusty sigh. "...All right, okay. It _has_ been brought to my attention that, seeing as I haven't got any, I'm not that good at understanding all the _completely mad_ ways people act about their brothers and sisters. So, sorry, never mind, forget that. All I meant was..." He paused to regroup, rubbing at his hair and then retrieving his hand hastily when that made her look even more exasperated. "Look, if she's angry with you just for being a witch, that's ridiculous, right? I mean... you didn't do it on _purpose_. It's like being cross with you for having fingers or something. It's loony."

"She's not loony, either," she muttered, although her expression looked a bit more troubled than angry now. He took that as a good sign as well, dropping down his knees to sit cross-legged and lean his elbows on them.

"Well, if not, she should stop acting like it." Evans's brow contracted even more tightly, and he cast about, pushing out his lip to blow fringe off his forehead. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. She'll come round about it eventually, either way."

She gave him a sour, tired look, unhappiness poorly hidden behind it. "How would you know?"

He shrugged. "It's like I just said. People act completely mad about their brothers and sisters. So I reckon that means her too." Evans blinked, and he sat up a little, warming to his subject. "All right, so maybe she calls you a freak, and that's not on... But if somebody _else_ said to her, 'Oi, you! Your sister's a freak!'? I bet she'd go _mad_." He adopted a fluting falsetto, dragging his whole mouth down in a mock-outraged tragedy-mask. "' _No she's not! How dare you! You're awful!_ ' Pow, thwap." This last he illustratedwith a few slow-motion slaps at the air. When he'd finished, he looked up at Evans expectantly, only to find that she was now giving him an _extremely_ skeptical look -- _and_ she looked like she was having a little trouble keeping her mouth turned at the corners.

"I _really_ don't think that's what Petunia would do," she said, severely, but with a slight unsteadiness that he didn't think had to do with tears anymore. James grinned, encouraged in spite of himself -- in spite of both of them, really.

"No, _trust me_. I know what I'm talking about, all right? This is a very real thing." He raised his finger in a teacherly sort of gesture. "People are allowed to talk bad about their own siblings all they want, but the second anybody else does? It's the _end of the world_. ...It's like false modesty in a way, sort of. You know, when somebody says, 'oh, I'm no good, I'm rubbish at this,' but if you agree with them, then you're in trouble. Even if they're completely right!" He paused for a moment, considering. "Which, by the way, I've personally never understood. If you think you're brilliant, you should just say, 'Oi, you lot! I'm brilliant! Thought you should know!' And _then_ if they agree, you just say, you know, 'Well spotted, cheers.' And if somebody _disagreed_ , you could say, 'Well, sod off, you wanker, what do you know' -- and they'd know _exactly why that happened_. And it'd all be so much less confusing for everyone. That's what I think." He paused again for a moment, well satisfied -- and then glanced over to find her staring at him, apparently frozen, one eyebrow climbing practically into her hairline. And frowned. "...What?"

"I just really can't quite believe you exist sometimes," she said, after a moment. James blinked.

"Well -- thanks."

"I didn't say it was a compliment." Before James could respond to that, though, she sighed again, and went on. "Anyway, I guess that's _sort of_ true, but... I don't want _her_ to think I'm a freak in the first place."

He waved his hand in the air, dismissing. "Yeah, I know. But she'll get over it." She cast him a sour, newly skeptical look, and he tried again. "I mean, I don't think anybody could go off you for very long."

"Oh really?" She folded her arms, although if he wasn't very much mistaken, there was a faint glint of amusement growing in her expression. "And what do you base that on?"

"Well -- " He caught up to himself suddenly and paused, newly discomfited. "Er. Well. ...It's just, you're brilliant, you know?" She gave him _such_ a look at that that he actually found himself on the verge of squirming. "I just mean. Well. You're -- really clever, and sort of funny, and _terrifying_ , and... probably fun to be around for really boring people, and... I just think, you know. Eventually, anybody'd figure out they were just missing out on a lot. Not talking to you, and all."

His face felt slightly hot by this point, which he dealt with by looking off to one side with all available dignity, and clearing his throat slightly. Evans was silent for so long that he started to get a bit nervous that he'd hacked her off again -- but when he finally risked a glance, he found the look on her face so complex and so uncharacteristic that he ended up stuck, looking back at it whether he wanted to or no.

"That was actually... _almost_ sort of sweet," she said, at last. And then frowned, suddenly. "...Are you really _actually_ Potter? You didn't -- I don't know, switch identities with Remus or Pettigrew, for some stupid prank or something?"

James scowled. "Oi. First of all, all of my pranks are _brilliant_ , and second of all -- is there any magic powerful enough to make either of _them_ \-- " He made a dramatic, swooping circle around his face with one hand. " -- _this_ handsome? _Hardly._ "

Evans sighed, tilting back her head and rolling her eyes. "All right, clearly you _are_ Potter. ...Which was _also_ not a compliment."

"Sure it was," James said, grinning. She snorted, but didn't reply. "By the way, what did you get your sister for her birthday that she sent back, anyway?"

"A book on pixies of the world," she said, a touch morosely, her chin on her knees. James stared at her for a moment -- and then burst into loud, snorting laughter, in spite of all his best efforts. She raised her head, with an affronted scowl of surprise, and then kicked out at his ankle. "Oh, _shut it_. I thought she'd like it, all right?"

"Well, _that's_ your problem," he said, when he could through his snickers. "I'd have sent that back too! You could've at least sent her some _actual_ pixies, let her strap 'em on and fly around for a bit -- " That made her bury something that might have been a snort in the tops of her knees. "I bet this is really all just a misunderstanding, I bet next time you see her she'll say, 'Look, Evans -- ' ...Well, no, she wouldn't call you Evans, she's your sister, _she's_ Evans too -- " Her shoulders were shuddering now, and he just picked up speed, galvanized into full hilarity. "'Lily,' she'll say, 'look, honestly, I never even really _cared_ if you're a witch or not, it's just _you give such crap presents_. You went off to some magic school, I was at _least_ expecting my own pet unicorn named Angel Starbeam, or a dust that makes your hair always look good, or...' ...Or something else girls like, I'm actually coming up a bit empty at this point -- "

But it hardly mattered anymore, because Evans had dropped her head back from her knees to the wall and was honestly laughing. He broke off, and just watched her for a minute, grinning a bit foolishly and not even caring.

"Did I just _make you laugh_?" he asked, finally, as she recovered herself. "That has to be one for the record books." She snorted one more time, and then pressed her mouth straight again.

" _No_." He gave her an accusing look, and she met it gamely, although undermined a bit by how her mouth kept fighting to smile. "...I was just thinking of something else funny at the same time."

"Oh, _really_. And what was that?"

"What would happen if you ever actually _did_ meet my sister," she said, after only a fractional hesitation -- and then honestly did begin to giggle again. James raised his eyebrows, thoughtfully.

"Yeah?" He affected to consider that. "...Do you think _she_ would go with me?"

That time she couldn't even deny it: she just collapsed back against the wall and _howled_. And after only a second or two to wonder whether he should be offended or not, he found he was helpless not to join her.

" _Anyway,_ " he said, gasping, when he started to recover finally, when she was down to just hiccups and wiping at her eyes with her fingers, "my _point_ is... you shouldn't worry about it too much." That sobered her up again a little quicker, which actually made him a bit sorry; but it helped him get there too, had him straightening up somewhat along the wall and starting to recover his original thread. "Families are always weird. And sometimes they're really annoying. But... they're always gonna be there, yeah? I mean... you can stop being friends with somebody, but you can't really stop being somebody's sister. ...And that's not even always a good thing, I s'pose. But it does mean -- you'll always get another chance." She was looking at him hard again, and he shrugged when he noticed, feeling slightly awkward all of a sudden. "So... yeah. Cheer up, eh?"

"Why is it," Evans said, finally, after a long and deliberating pause, "that you can be such a complete _turd_ all the time when you're showing off for people, when as soon as nobody's looking, you actually turn out to be sort of kind?"

James gave her a small, uncertain grin. "Dunno. ...Don't go spreading it around or anything, though, all right?"

She sighed, blowing hair off her forehead. "It'd serve you right." She sat a moment longer, and then shifted her weight, pushing herself up along the wall as far as she could really go in here, wand still clutched absently in one hand. "...Well, anyway, it doesn't matter. I've wasted enough time here already -- I really ought to get out of here and go to the library, I've got loads of homework."

"If you say so," James agreed, amiably enough, and drew back his knees to let her get by and out the tapestry hole. He popped up and out himself just behind, to find her still standing just outside waiting for him in the empty corridor, watching him catch his balance and dust himself off with an expression he couldn't quite read. "Well... see you around, then?"

"I suppose so." She hesitated for a long, long moment, though, looking at the floor, a slight frown between her brows. And then finally, just as he had given up waiting and was turning to go: "And... Potter?"

He turned back, surprised, curious. "Yeah?"

Except he never _quite_ entirely finished the word. Because before he could, Lily Evans had grabbed him by a fistful of the front of his t-shirt, hauled him in, and given him a quick, hard kiss at one corner of his mouth.

It was over almost before it had begun, and unmemorable: closed-lipped, slightly bruising, her nose bumping his and jostling his glasses. It was the first time he had ever kissed anybody, mums and aunts and overly-friendly neighbours aside. He just barely had time to realise what was happening before she had pulled back again -- shoving him away with the hand still in his shirt, and then aiming her wand right at him before he could do anything more than stand there goggling.

"And if you _ever_ tell _anyone_ I did that," she hissed, with such ferocity that her whole face seemed to blaze with it, "I will -- one -- deny it; two -- _laugh_ at you; and three -- jinx your _bollocks right off you_ , stick _hooks_ in them, and _make you wear them for earrings_. _Is that all perfectly clear?_ "

It took him several dangerous seconds more of goggling to realise that needed a response of some kind. "Y-yeah," he said in a gabble, when he could find his tongue again. "Yeah, perfectly clear."

She hovered there a second or two more, staring at him scowl-browed, and also looking slightly wrong-footed and not sure what else to say. And then, without another word, she just turned so fast her hair nearly whipped him across the face, and took off at a run down the corridor. James just stood there, utterly poleaxed, until she had vanished from sight around the corner; and then for another moment more, only looking at where she had been.

"I'm going to marry that woman," he said at last, confidently, to no one in particular. A nearby portrait of a cross-eyed wizard made a politely skeptical noise, but otherwise wisely refrained from comment.

\---

The spring of that year finished out fairly quietly, for all that the fall had come in with so much drama and difficulty. Sirius and his brother continued not to speak to or acknowledge each other. Sirius and James got into as much obnoxious trouble as possible, although never such that they got more than a night's detention out of it. Peter went to his remedial classes and James and Sirius alternately teased and helped him. James even seemed to be leaving Lily Evans more or less alone. Classes got more difficult, visits to Hogsmeade slightly less exciting. And finally, in spite of Remus's constant certainty that he would, Sirius never lost interest in coming up to the Shack just after dawn, after the full moon. Every month Remus told himself he wouldn't be there, not to expect him there, not sure if he meant it grimly or hopefully or both; and every month, Sirius _was_ there, laying a blanket over his shoulders and telling him whether he was bleeding too badly anywhere, and sitting by telling him stupid jokes or murmured comfort as he lay shivering and aching on the floor.

And by the last one in early June, in spite of himself, Remus found he _had_ come to start expecting Sirius there. Whether he wanted to or not.

They got through their exams somehow, and said goodbye for the summer on the train platform like always. And when Sirius gave Remus a long squeeze around the shoulders and murmured in his ear _good luck,_ somehow -- in between the goosebumps prickling up on the back of his neck -- Remus was able to reflect on how this was both _almost_ becoming something he could get used to... and also becoming something completely different and completely unbearable, all at the same time.


End file.
